No More Darkness
by LovetheScottishAngel
Summary: If you want to read this story and its predecessor, that's all right. Just know that an improved incarnation can be found in my new story 'In Blood.'
1. Chapter 1: Captured!

**A/N #1: This is the sequel to The Phantom's Daughter. If you haven't read The Phantom's Daughter, then stop, get out of this story, find The Phantom's Daughter, read it, and then come back.**

**A/N #2: For the rest of you... welcome back! Due to fic - related reasons, the story is starting sooner than I thought (which is a good thing)!**

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"This isn't the end!"

With that, Christine picked up a candleabra and began smashing the mirrors. When she broke the last mirror, the weak wall behind it broke, and she could see a passageway - her escape to freedom.

She grabbed her cloak and put it on. Before she stepped through, she looked behind her and took one last look at what she was leaving - the only home she'd ever known.

"I'll return," she vowed silently to herself. "I'm just not sure when..."

The room behind pasageway was cool and dark, so Christine could hardly see anything. She guided herself away from her lair blindly, knowing she had to be gone - soon -, or else the mob set out to kill her would catch her. She didn't want to think of what would happen then.

She continued walking quickly, thinking about how disastrous the past few hours had been. She'd destroyed the Opera Populaire by letting it catch fire, she'd killed countless people - which she honestly didn't care all that much about -, and most of all, definitely most of all, she'd lost the love of her life.

Cameron Luc had been just a male chorister when Christine had first met him a little over two years ago, and she'd fallen for him the second she'd seen him. He had golden blonde hair, clear blue eyes, a handsome face, and a smile that had made every chorus girl or ballet rat working at the Opera swoon.

Shortly after she'd met him, he'd heard her singing in the Opera's chapel one day and mistaken her for the Angel of Music. In her view, that hadn't been a bad thing. It had given her the opportunity to be able to see him and speak to him, though he wouldn't ever see her, and she could teach him how to sing beautifully, which she did easily. It was because of her that he'd soon become very close to being the leading tenor at the Opera.

But a certain young woman by the name of Emilie Chastain had ruined that for her. Emilie and Cameron had started liking each other, which really angered Christine, seeing that Emilie was a lot more attractive than she was.

Then one night, after Cameron performed that night's opera, Emilie caused Christine to go against her original plan - meaning Cameron never saw her - by insisting that they go have supper together. Christine wasn't going to let that happen, so she lured Cameron through the mirror to her world, and that was how they'd met.

After that, though, things were disastrous for the next year and nine months. Love, hate, obsession, lust, sadness, happiness... those were one of the countless emotions that she went through during that time.

Then it had all ended earlier that very evening, when Cameron went off with Emilie, the woman he truly loved. It had been sad to see him go, but Emilie had shown her kindness by saving her life. She couldn't have kept him with her after that, so she'd repaid her debt and let him go.

She silently shook her head. None of it mattered now. Cameron was dead to her. She knew that she would be dead soon, too, if the mob caught her.

Just then, she felt someone grab her from behind, causing her to let out a little yelp. She struggled to break free, but her captor's hold on her was too firm.

"I caught her!" a man's voice triumphed. "I caught the monster!"

When that proclamation had been sent out, she heard joyful shouts coming from behind her. She was turned around by her captor and saw torchlight coming closer along with the shouts. She knew in an instant what it was - the mob.

Soon all the mob had gathered around her. They started mocking her.

"Take off that mask and show us what you _really_ are!" a woman declared. Everyone else agreed.

Christine's captor, who was still holding on to her, quickly met the demand of the crowd by grabbing her white half - mask and pulling it off. She let out a little screech when he did. The crowd cheered.

"Come on! Let's take her away!" a man shouted. The crowd cheered in agreement.

She felt her captor pulling her away from the lair, towards some unknown place. Although she didn't know where that place was, she knew that they weren't taking her anywhere she wanted to be.

After a moment, she regained the ability to speak. "No!" she cried out, struggling. "No, no, _no_!"

"She's resisting too much!" her captor declared. "Put her out!"

Suddenly, she felt something hard and heavy come down on the top of her head.

Then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2: The Punishment

Christine stirred and opened her eyes. She glanced around and saw that she was in some sort of cell. Sitting up, she tenderly rubbed the spot on her head where she'd been hit. Then she saw that there was a chain attached to her ankle.

Feeling the need to call someone for help, she mumbled a single word hopelessly.

"Father..."

"The monster's awake!" she heard a voice call out. "Come on!"

The mob soon gathered around her cell and stared with fascination at their deformed captive.

A man then stepped forward, pulled out a set of keys, unlocked the cell door, and entered.

"Well, monster," he said to her so loudly that it hurt Christine's ears, "you are our prisoner now. Do you know why?"

She simply sat there for a moment, staring up at the man with stony - eyed contempt. She wasn't going to speak to the man who captured her - she knew because she recognized his voice.

"Answer me!" the man snapped suddenly, slapping her across her deformed, unmasked cheek - hard.

She placed a hand on her hot raw cheek, looking at him for a moment, shocked. Then she said softly, with a hint of menace, "I'd be stupid _not_ to know, _monsieur_. I am The Phantom of the Opera, and you wish to be rid of me."

"Correct!" the man praised, slapping her again, harder this time. She let out a little gasp of pain.

"Now, monster," he continued, "you shall be punished for your crimes. If you thought that slap was hard, wait until punishment begins." He paused. "It begins... now." Then he slapped her again.

Slaps turned into punches. Soon she wasn't just being slapped - she was being beaten.

The crowd jeered every time she let out a cry of pain. "Look at the all - powerful Phantom of the Opera now!" "Not so all - powerful now, are you?" "Look at her cower!"

After maybe five minutes, she finally quit trying to fight her tormentor and simply lay down on the ground, waiting for sweet unconsciousness to claim her.

She didn't wait long. It was only another moment before everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3: Prison Break

On the fourth evening of her imprisonment, Christine sat in her cell, looking around miserably.

"I wish I'd never met Cameron," she thought to herself. "Then I wouldn't be here in this hellish place..."

Her thoughts were interrupted by hearing a noise just outside of her cell. She looked up and saw the mob member who had been assigned to guard her cell sitting down on the ground and letting out a sigh.

After a few minutes, his breathing became even. He was asleep.

"All right," she thought to herself. "This is your chance to escape... don't ruin it."

She crawled over to where the man was sleeping and stealthily slipped the keys - one of which was to unlock her cell door - off of his belt. She searched for the right key for a moment.

When she found it, she unlocked the cell door. Then she found the key to the chain on her ankle and unlocked the chain. She rose, almost too weak from constant beatings and starvation to stand.

She crept out of her cell, grabbed her mask and cloak, which were sitting nearby on the ground, and put on her mask. Then she pulled her cloak on over her shoulders and started walking towards the door that would lead outside to freedom.

Just as she was about to calmly walk out the door, she heard some nearby shouting. The mob had already found out that she'd escaped - so soon!

Letting out a gasp, she burst through the door and started running as it started to pour rain.

She stayed along the alleys of Paris, just one step ahead of the entire mob for about five minutes. Then she started getting worn out because she'd been beaten and starved for three full days.

"I've got to find somewhere to hide," she thought desperately, looking around to see what was nearby. She saw a big house with a light on inside and instantly started running to it.

When she reached the front door of the house, she desperately knocked on the door, hoping that someone would answer before she passed out on the porch.

Marc Wellington, a twenty - one - year - old British man, heard a knock at his front door. He looked up at his grandfather clock and saw that it was ten o'clock.

"Who's calling so late?" he mumbled to himself sleepily, rising from his chair and slowly making his way to his front door.

When he unlocked and opened the door, he came face - to - face with a young girl with black hair, grey - green eyes and a white half - mask on the right side of her face. She was panting, and soaked from the rain.

Christine looked at the man standing at the door. "Help me... please..." she pleaded, then, exhausted, collapsed on the porch, unconscious.

Marc gazed down at the young woman for a moment. "What a lovely voice she has," he thought to himself for a moment. "Like a choir of angels all on its own. Is she really in trouble, though?"

Just then, he heard some nearby shouting of some angry - sounding people. "Get her!" "Find her!" "She can't escape us!"

That confirmed it for him - the girl was in trouble. Without another moment's hesitation, he scooped her up in his strong arms and carried her inside his house, closing the door behind him.

He carried her into the parlor and gently placed her down on the sofa. Then he saw that she was injured in multiple places and disappeared for a moment.

When he returned, he had a washcloth, bandages, and a bottle of cleaning solution in his hand. He pulled up a nearby chair, sat down, and started cleaning and bandaging her wounds, praying that she'd wake up sometime soon.


	4. Chapter 4: Introductions

Christine opened her eyes to feel a stinging pain in her shoulder.

She looked around her and saw that she was in some sort of parlor, lying on the sofa. Then everything came back to her - she'd escaped from her cell and come to a house. When she'd knocked on the door, a man had answered, and then she'd pleaded for help and passed out.

But what had happened after that? Fear went through her. Was she caught again?

Her thoughts were interrupted by feeling another stinging pain in her shoulder. She turned her head and saw a handsome man with brown hair and brown eyes who looked to be a few years older than herself, his head turned away from her.

She stared at him in fascination for a moment. He was astonishingly good - looking... just like Cameron had been.

"Cameron's dead," she mumbled. "_Dead!_"

He heard her and jolted, then spun around to face her. When he saw her staring at him, he let out a relieved sigh. "Oh, good - you're conscious!"

"Where am I?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"You are in my house, _mademoiselle_. I brought you inside," he explained, giving her a kind smile that took her breath away for a moment.

"Did - Did they get me?" she stammered nervously, trying to sit up. "Am I caught?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "No. Nobody's caught you," he said calmly. "I assure you, _mademoiselle_, you are quite safe here. No harm will come to you. Now please, lie back down and let me finish."

Feeling calmer now, she relaxed and lay back down on the sofa, sighing softly. She didn't know who this man was, and she'd learned not to trust anyone within the past few days, but she felt that she needed to trust this stranger.

He spoke again as he continued nursing her. "What is your name, _mademoiselle_?"

"Christine," she replied. "I'm Christine."

"Christine what? What is your surname?"

"Vasille. Christine Vasille."

"Christine Vasille," he murmured. "That's a lovely name."

"Thank you. What is _your_ name?"

"Marc - Marc Wellington."

"Marc," she said softly. "Are you British? You sound it."

"Yes, I am," he replied. "I moved here from London about two years ago. Are you French?"

"Yes. I was born right here in Paris."

He smiled at her again. He had a nice smile. "Lovely." He paused. "Now, Christine Vasille, you shall have to undress to take care of the rest of your wounds, so I imagine that you'll want to take care of them yourself." He tied a bandage on her shoulder wound.

"Yes," she replied, wincing as he tightened the bandage on her shoulder. She sat up slowly on the sofa. "Just point me to your bathroom, please."

He handed her the bandages and cleaning solution. "It's the third door to the right, down that hallway," he said, pointing towards where he was telling her to go. "You might also wish to wash up as well. I don't imagine you have any extra clothes with you."

"I'm afraid not," she confessed. "All I've got is what I have on."

He considered. "Well, don't worry," he finally said. "I shall find you something to wear." He rose. "Wait here a moment, and I'll find you a robe to put on when you finish."

He went upstairs and was gone for a few moments. Then he returned with a robe and handed it to her. "There. I'll have something for you in the upstairs room - the first one on your left - for you to wear by the time you're done."

She nodded. "Thank you." Then she rose and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

When Marc heard the bath water running, he made his way upstairs to find something suitable for her to wear.

As he dug through closets and dressers that contained clothes that belonged to his older sisters, he thought about Christine. She seemed nice enough. She had good manners.

He thought about the many wounds that covered her. Where had she gotten them from?

His thoughts turned to the mask on her face. Was it because of what lay beneath it? It seemed the most logical explanation.

After a moment, he shrugged and sighed, deciding that if she wanted to tell him about it, she would.

Christine sat in the bathtub, her head resting on the wall with her eyes closed, as she thought about Marc. He seemed to be a kind person - after all, he was helping a wanted criminal and a monster, and who would do that? Something about that gave her a peaceful feeling.

Then a new thought occured to her. Would he have to be told of her recent past? Would he be told by someone else? Surely then she'd be turned in to the authorities.

"No," she finally decided, "he doesn't need to know anything about me but my name. I'll be gone by the time he finds out - if he finds out at all."

Doubts assauged, she stepped out of the tub and dried herself off. Then she bandaged her remaining wounds and pulled on the robe, which was soft and warm. She was just about to walk out the door when she remembered her mask, which she'd taken off to bathe. She quickly grabbed it and put it in place, then opened the door and walked upstairs to the room that Marc had said her clothes would be.

On the bed there was a simple white lace nightgown with long sleeves and a v - neck. She took off the robe and pulled the nightgown on over her head. Just as luck would have it, it fit her perfectly, and it was comfortable. She went downstairs to thank Marc.

She found him in the parlor, sitting in a chair and reading a book. She stood at the doorway quietly, waiting for him to look up, since she didn't want to disturb his reading.

Marc suddenly felt another's presence and looked up from his book. Christine stood at the doorway, dressed in the nightgown. "Why, it fits perfectly!" He smiled at her. "It's just the right size."

She nodded. "Thank you, Marc," she said quietly. "You're very kind."

He smiled again. "You're welcome. Are you off to bed?"

"You're going to let me stay the night?" she asked, incredulous.

"Of course. I assumed - perhaps I am wrong - that you have nowhere to go.

She sighed. "No, you're right." Then she thought to herself, "The mob will be looking for me in every imaginable place at the Opera."

He nodded and smiled. "Well, then you're welcome to stay as long as you like."

She smiled the tiniest smile at him. "Again, thank you. Shall I just use the upstairs room?"

"That's fine." He paused. "By the way, I put an assortment of dresses in the closet for you to wear."

"Thank you." She stood there for a minute. "Well, good night, Marc."

"Good night, Christine. Sleep well."

She nodded and went upstairs to the room that she would be sleeping in. He looked after her until she was out of sight, then resumed his reading.


	5. Chapter 5: A Musician

**Disclaimer: I don't own the _Phantom_ song _Think Of Me_.**

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The next morning, Christine woke up in the bedroom at Marc's house. She sat up, stretched, and got out of bed. Then she walked over to the closet and looked for something to wear.

After choosing a gray - green dress that matched her eyes, she dressed and then put on a pair of shoes and stockings. Again, she was lucky enough that the clothes fit her. Then she pulled her hair back into a braid, checked to make sure her mask was in place, and went downstairs.

She found Marc sitting at the dining table, drinking a cup of tea and reading that day's newspaper.

"Good morning," he greeted her with a smile when he saw her. "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"Good. There's eggs, sausage, toast, and tea for breakfast - if you're hungry."

"I am. I haven't eaten in days." She turned and began to ger herself tea and food.

He turned his attention back to the newspaper in his hand. "Hmm," he murmured as he read the front - page article. "It seems that The Phantom of the Opera - have you heard of her? - escaped from prison last night."

She stiffened slightly as she poured herself some tea into a teacup. "Really?" she asked, trying to be casual.

"Yes." He paused. Was Christine possibly The Phantom of the Opera? After all, she wore a half - mask on the same side of her face that The Phantom did.

After a moment, he decided against it and said, "All I can say is that I hope they catch her soon and punish her for her crimes."

She nodded, then brought her teacup and breakfast plate to the table, sat down, and ate.

When Christine had finished eating and washed the dishes, she began to wander around the house. Marc followed her around, acting as a sort of tour guide.

When they went into the parlor, she noticed something that she hadn't taken notice of the previous night - a piano against one of the walls.

"You have a piano?" she asked delightedly, resting her slender fingers on the cool ivory keys.

"Yes," he replied. "Do you play?"

"Yes. I've been playing since I was about eight."

"Well, then feel free to play as you wish."

"Thank you, Marc. May I play now?"

"Certainly. I shall be your audience." He sat down on the sofa and waited.

She smiled and little and sat down on the piano bench. Then she hit the 'A' key with her pointer finger. A painfully out of tune note came from the piano.

"It's out of tune!" she cried out severely, glancing over at him. "How long has it been since someone played on it?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Several years. I don't play - my mother does. She gave it to me to bring with me when I moved here, and before that, it just sat in the attic. For some reason, when I moved here, I didn't have the heart to sell it, so I kept it. It's really just been for show."

She sighed. "Oh, very well. I shall tune it, and then I shall play for you."

He nodded, and she hit the 'A' note again and started tuning the piano, note by note, carefully. He watched her quietly, too fascinated to speak. Christine didn't look like the person who had a lot of patience to him, so seeing her tune so carefully was astonishing.

After the astonishing - to him, at least - time of fifteen minutes, she had the piano perfectly in tune.

"All right," she announced, sitting down on the piano bench again. "Now I will play something." She considered for a moment, then started playing Chopin's _Concerto in F Minor_.

He sat through the entire concerto in utter silence, again too amazed to speak. She played every note perfectly in tune.

When she was done, he applauded and praised, "Well done, Christine! My, such talent! How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"You're only sixteen, and you can play like _that_?"

She shrugged. "I practiced a lot. I still do. My father used to give me lessons every day when I was younger."

"He's a pianist as well?"

"My father and I are musicians of many instruments. He's more of a violinist than anything else, though - the violin is his specialty."

He smiled at her. "He must be very proud of your musical talent."

"Yes, I suppose he is," she sighed sadly, suddenly missing her father.

He saw her saddened expression. "What's wrong?" he asked concernedly.

She glanced up at him and looked at him for a moment. Then she finally replied, "Marc, my father died a little over two years ago. He was shot and killed."

He gasped, his hand flying to his mouth. "Oh, Christine, I'm so sorry!" he cried out.

Shrugging, she looked down at the floor so that she wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. "It's just a part of life - another one of those things," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry." He paused. "What about your mother?"

She looked up at him sharply and slammed her fist down on the keys, making the piano play a jarring dischord. Her grey - green eyes sparked with sudden anger. "Don't talk to me about my mother!" she growled.

He held up his hands in surrender, surprised by her sudden change of mood. "All right, sorry. May... may I ask why?"

"If you _must_ know," she began angrily, "my mother gave birth to me and took one look at me and hated me! I reminded her too much of my father, and when I was only a month old, she gave me to my father and abandoned me!"

She sat there for a moment, staring down at her hands resting on the piano keys, trying to calm herself down. Then she continued, her voice quieter. "When I was eight, she died. I heard about it. I... I don't even remember her. I only know what she looked like many years ago - from this." She grabbed hold of the tiny locket that Erik had given her that contained her parents' pictures in it, which was around her neck, and held it out for him to see it.

He looked at her for a moment, filled with sympathy. It was hard for him to believe that someone younger than he was an orphan, since he still had his mother.

She saw his sympathetic expression, and her angered expression softened. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, bowing her head. "I have a terrible temper at times. I got it from my father. It's truly inexcusable most of the time. It just... hurts to talk about my parents." She looked up at him, and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears.

"I'm sorry, Christine," he said gently. "Don't worry about your temper. My mother has a bad temper sometimes, too."

Sighing, she turned her attention back to the piano. "Do you want me to play something else for you?" she asked, changing the subject.

He smiled. "Sure."

"Okay. Do you want me to sing, too?"

"You're a singer as well?" He sounded stunned.

"Yes. Would you like to hear me sing?"

"Certainly! Please sing!"

"All right." She sat at the piano thoughtfully for a moment, then began to play the intro to _Think Of Me_. She sang:

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye..._

_Remember me_

_Once in a while_

_Please promise me you'll try..._

_When you find_

_That once again you long_

_To take your heart back and be free,_

_If you ever find a moment,_

_Spare a thought for me..._

Then she stopped singing and playing.

"Well done!" he gasped, applauding. "That's amazing! Your voice is _beautiful_!"

She smiled a little. "Thank you. My father gave me voice lessons, too. He was a great singer." She sighed wistfully as she remembered the days past. "I remember how he always sang for me when I had trouble sleeping."

"Well, you earned his voice, along with his temper," he said jokingly.

"Well, he taught me a lot," she admitted, her smile getting a little bigger. "After all, he raised me." She paused. "Shall I play for you again?"

So Christine spent the entire rest of the afternoon playing the piano and singing for Marc.


	6. Chapter 6: A Criminal

Two weeks passed, and Christine - still not sure it was safe for her to return to her lair - remained at Marc's house, earning her keep by singing and playing the piano for him every afternoon. Much to her reluctant surprise, they were becoming friends.

"Oh, well," she decided, "as long as he doesn't know about who I am, it's fine."

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One afternoon, Marc and Christine sat in the parlor together in between songs that Christine was singing and playing, talking to each other and finding out more about each other and simply enjoying one another's company.

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened to your home?" Marc asked, taking a sip of Russian tea with lemon that Christine had made. "You said that it was ruined. How?"

"It burnt to the ground - at least, as far as I know," Christine replied, sighing. "I didn't stay around long enough to find out. But it was burning when I left."

He nodded. "Ah. I see. You don't think that it was saved in time?"

She shrugged. "It's possible, but... not really likely. It's big."

"Where did you live?"

"I'd rather not speak of that, if you don't mind," she said coolly.

"Okay." He paused. "Have you any friends?"

"Yes. You."

"Well, besides me."

She nodded. "Yes," she sighed. "One."

"Not very sociable, are you?" he asked softly with a slight smile.

"No," she replied, sighing again, "I'm not. Most people like me - the few that there are - aren't."

"Hmm. Where's your friend now?"

"I don't know. Out there somewhere, looking for me, I suppose."

"What are you running from?"

She glanced at him curiously. "What do you mean, what am I running from?"

"Well, a group of people was looking for you the first night we met," he explained. "They were shouting and saying, 'Get her!' 'She can't escape us!' and things like that."

"I don't want to talk about it," she sighed. "I don't like talking or thinking about it."

Just then, they heard a knock at the door.

She jolted. "I'll, um, be in the kitchen," she said hurriedly, rising and starting to make her way into the kitchen. Then she stopped and turned to him for a moment. "If anyone asks, you're alone, all right?"

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

He looked after her for a moment, raising his eyebrows in confusion. What had that been all about? Why did she want him to say that she wasn't there? She had been so relaxed and calm moments ago - why the sudden change?

Shrugging, he stood and went to the door and opened it. Two policemen stood in the doorway.

"Good afternoon, _monsieur_," one of them greeted him. "We were wondering if you've seen this girl." He held out a picture.

Marc took the picture from the policeman and looked at the picture, nearly letting out a gasp when he did.

The picture was of a girl with shoulder - length black hair, grey - green eyes, and a white half mask on the side of her face. _Christine!_

He looked back up at the waiting policemen. "Sorry, no," he lied, handing the picture back to them.

"She may have snuck inside without your noticing," the other policeman suggested. He and the first policeman stepped forward slightly. "Would you mind if we had a look around?"

"Um, well, actually, I do," Marc replied, blocking the policemen's way. "You see, I've been... um... sick. I've been vomiting all over the place, and I haven't had a chance to clean up my most recent mess yet. You _really_ don't want to come in right now."

The policemen glanced at each other for a moment, then turned back to him.

"All right. Well, if you happen to see the girl," the first policeman told him, "contact the authorities immediately. She's a wanted criminal who must be caught and punished quickly."

Marc nodded. "I will. Good day."

The policemen nodded and left.

Marc closed the door behind him and locked it, letting out a sigh. That had been a close call.

A million questions started running through his head. Why were the police after Christine? What had she done? Most of all - why hadn't he turned her in then and there?

He took a deep breath and went to go find Christine to get answers.

She was back in the parlor. She sat on the sofa, staring into space, twirling a lock of her wavy black hair with one finger, humming to herself.

When she finally glanced up at him, he said to her, his tone surprisingly calm, "The police were just here, Christine. They were looking for _you_."

Instead of replying, she looked away.

"You're running from the authorities, aren't you?" he asked.

No response.

"Why are they looking for you?" he asked, trying again to get a reply from her. "What did you do?"

She glared - actually _glared_ - up at him with stunning iciness. "Why the authorities are in pursuit of me is _my_ business," she stated coldly. "If you do not wish for me to stay, then I shall take my leave, and I thank you for your hospitality."

With that, she rose and began to exit the parlor.

He grabbed her arm to stop her. He wanted answers, and he would get them!

Unfortunately, the place where he grabbed her arm was on a bruise that still hadn't healed from the beatings she'd received. She let out a hiss, but whether it was out of anger or pain was unclear.

"How _dare_ you touch me!" she snarled, attempting to free herself from his grip. "Let go of me!"

He tightened his grip on her arm, making her wince in pain. "Tell me why they're after you - _now_!" he demanded.

"Marc," she sighed, suddenly sounding tired and defeated, "please... not now. I'll tell you, I promise, but not today. Not now." She looked at him pleadingly. "Please?"

His gaze softened at her plea. Sighing, he let go of her arm. "Very well. But you'd better tell me, Christine. I mean it!"

"I will," she assured him. "Thank you, Marc. I promise you'll know soon."


	7. Chapter 7: Unexpected Visitor

A week had passed since the police had come looking for Christine at Marc's house when Marc made an announcement:

"An old friend of mine is coming to visit me today, and I'd like you to be present."

Christine stiffened. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Marc," she said nervously. "I'm not very good around strangers."

"Nonsense," he retorted. "I'm practically a stranger to you, and you're fine around me. You'll be fine. He's a very nice person, Christine. You'll like him." He paused. "If it's getting turned in by him that you're worried about, since he might know what you did, there's no need. He won't turn in a friend of mine. Please?"

She considered. "Oh, I suppose so," she finally said. "It's the least I can do to repay your kindness to me."

He smiled at her. "Thank you, Christine. He'll be here at two o'clock."

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At two o'clock sharp, Christine was dressed in a sky - blue dress, and her hair was loose around her face. Marc wore dress pants and a white button - up shirt, and his brown hair was loose.

They were both sitting in the parlor quietly when the doorbell rang.

"I'll go make tea," Christine said, standing up and going into the kitchen to make Russian tea with lemon.

Marc stood up and went to answer the door.

"Hello!" he greeted his guest, smiling brightly. "It's been too long, old friend - do come in!"

Christine sat in the kitchen, waiting for Marc to come in and ask for tea and biscuits. While she waited, she fidgeted, feeling nervous about seeing anyone but Marc for the first time in three weeks.

What if they turned her in to the authorities, although Marc said they wouldn't? What if they knew her? What if _she_ knew _them_?

Her thoughts and fidgeting were interrupted by hearing the kitchen door open. She looked up.

Marc stuck his head through the doorway. "Will you bring out tea and biscuits, please, Christine?" he asked.

She stood up and nodded. "Sure."

He smiled, nodded, and then went back into the parlor to catch up with his guest.

She poured the tea into a pot, got out three teacups, saucers, and small plates that were Marc's best china, then got out a serving plate of biscuits. Then she placed it all on a tray.

Picking up the tray, she opened the kitchen door and walked into the parlor, and it was then that she saw Marc's guest.

He was sitting on the sofa. His blonde hair was slicked back, and his clear blue eyes shone brightly. His smile spread across his handsome face as he talked to his old friend.

_Marc's guest was Cameron Luc!_

She gasped and dropped the tray on the floor. It made a _crash_ as the china broke. Realizing what she'd done, she instantly squatted on the floor and started picking up the mess.

Cameron walked over to where she squatted to help her, unaware of who she was. "Are you all right, miss?" he asked her, kneeling down in front of her.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said hurriedly, not daring to look up at him as she scooped the brokan china onto the tray with one hand. "I'm just clumsy, that's all."

Cameron stopped short. He recognized that voice. He'd heard it speak to him too often not to recognize it. But it couldn't possibly be she - could it?

Determined to find out, he cupped the girl's chin with his hand and tilted her face upwards. Then, for the first time in three weeks, Cameron and Christine came face to face once again.

"_Christine!_" he exclaimed, pulling his hand from her face in surprise.

She gazed at him for a moment, not sure what to say. "Hello, Cameron," she finally said softly.

Marc's eyes widened in surprise as the two continued to look into each other's eyes. Cameron and Christine knew each other? How?

After another moment of awkward silence, Christine picked up the tray, stood up, and walked into the kitchen to dump the broken china in the trash.

When she walked back into the parlor, Cameron was standing in the middle of the parlor. Marc simply sat in his chair, apparently at a loss for words.

Then Cameron saw Christine standing nearby. "Marc," he said, suddenly sounding angry, "are you aware that you are housing a _wanted criminal_ under your roof?"

"I am _quite_ aware, Cameron," Marc replied calmly. "Thank you for your concern."

Cameron looked at Marc for a moment. "If you're smart, Marc," he said slowly, "you'll turn her in to the authorities _at once_!"

"Well, then," Marc replied, sounding as calm as ever, "I must not be smart, because I'm not turning her in to the authorities. What happens to someone living under my roof is at _my_ discretion."

Cameron glared at Christine, who glared right back at him. "You haven't seen the last of me, Christine," he growled at her. "We'll see each other again _very soon_."

"I look forward to it," she replied evenly. "Good day, Cameron."

He nodded to her coldly, then turned to Marc.

"Good day, Marc. I'll show myself out." Then he exited the parlor, opened the front door, and left the house, closing the door behind him.

Marc stood up, went to the door, and locked it. Then he walked back into the parlor, where Christine still stood.

"I assume that how you know Cameron has to do with why the police are after you," he informed her. "So, you're going to tell me what you did - right now."

"I suppose I shall _have_ to tell you now, won't I?" she sighed. "Very well. Then sit... I have much to tell you."


	8. Chapter 8: Behind The Mask

The second Marc and Christine sat down, he on the sofa and she in a chair, she instantly began.

"Marc, I'm The Phantom of the Opera."

His eyes widened in surprise. So his first assumption had been correct! He let out a little laugh. "You waste no time in getting to the point, do you?"

She shook her head. "No." She took a deep breath. "Okay... I imagine you know that Cameron worked at the Opera?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"Well, I was in love with him." She sighed as she remembered the first day she'd met Cameron. "He was so handsome... but I knew that I'd never be able to be with him."

"Was it because he was courting Emilie?" he asked. "Do you know about Emilie?"

"I certainly do. I've actually met her once or twice."

"Ah. Well, was it because of Emilie?"

She shook her head. "No. It's because of something that will be revealed to you at a later time." She paused. "My father had already died... I was alone... and then I saw him, and everything changed."

He nodded. "That happens when you fall in love for the first time. You met him at some point, I imagine?"

"Yes. You see, I deceived him and had him believe that I was the Angel of Music."

"So _you_ were the one he was talking about!" he exclaimed, pointing at her. "You see, he'd told me about the Angel of Music, and that he'd met his... I had my suspicions when I heard you sing."

She nodded. "Well, I did meet him at one point - more than once, actually. It's been a long time since he told you about me, hasn't it?"

"A year and nine months."

"I see I'm not the only one who's been counting. But anyway, he met me, and then things were utter insanity after that." She sighed. "Love, hate, sadness, happiness, lust -"

"_Lust?_" he echoed.

She felt her face flush. "Yes, lust," she mumbled. She cleared her throat. "But that's beside the point. Once Cameron and Emilie started courting, I was infinitely jealous that Emilie so easily won over what I wanted so badly."

"Cameron."

"Cameron. So I started writing an opera called _Genius's Mistake_. I wrote it because I thought it would win Cameron back."

"Did it? Wait, no," he said. "Sorry. Stupid question. Go ahead."

"So I gave it to the Opera last New Year's, and they started working on it. I also won over Cameron - for a while, at least. You see, I forced him to choose between seeing me again - we hadn't seen each other in six months - and marrying Emilie." She paused. "I knew he'd want to see me again for some time, although part of me doubted it. But it worked, and he postponed marrying Emilie."

"But things messed up."

"They did," she sighed. "He one night told me he hated me." She paused as she looked down at the floor so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. "I'll never forget the most hurtful name he called me... 'stupid monster'."

He let out a whistle. "I didn't know Cameron could be so harsh."

"Oh, you have no idea," she replied, letting out a bitter laugh and shaking her head as she looked back up at him. "It gets worse." She paused. "So I left him alone, and I didn't see him again for eight months."

"And why did you see him eight months later?"

"I can assure you that _I_ had no part in it. He simply ran down to my lair, crying like a baby, and started apologizing and saying he didn't hate me." She shook her head and sighed. "And... I took him back. We became friends again."

"I'm not sure that sat well with Emilie," he replied. "Did it?"

"It certainly didn't. She was jealous. She thought that Cameron loved me, and he didn't." She paused. "Emilie was, in fact, so jealous that she swordfought me in the cemetery this past December, three months ago."

"In the _cemetery_?"

"I was visiting my father's grave for the second year that he'd been dead," she explained. "You know, you'd never know it by looking at her, but Emilie is an _excellent_ swordswoman. She nearly killed me that day."

"Wow."

"'Wow' is right. Cameron was so angry with her afterwards, especially after he saw the state that I was in when I was half - recovered. I could hardly breathe without feeling pain. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if I still have scars. But enough about that... as I said, Cameron was very angry, and he actually broke off their engagement."

His eyes widened. "_Really?_"

"Really. And then he came down to live with me - permanently. The only reason he went above - ground was to rehearse with the rest of the Opera for _Genius's Mistake_." She smiled a little as she remembered the best time. "And then... there was love."

"Obviously involving you, considering your facial expression."

She nodded and smiled again. "Yes. On Valentine's Day, Cameron wrote me a song and told me he loved me." Her smile faded. "But as you know, that wasn't how it ended."

"Why not?"

"Emilie." She paused. "Yes, two weeks before _Genius's Mistake_ was set to premiere, Emilie begged Cameron to come back to her, and that they'd go away and get married after the opening night of _Genius's Mistake_."

"Cameron chose Emilie," he replied. "Did he tell you?"

"No. On the opening night of _Genius's Mistake_, though, he gave himself away by telling me not to come up and watch it, because the police would be there, armed and ready to kill me."

"Would they?"

"Yes. But I was no fool. I knew that the main reason he didn't want me going up there was so I wouldn't see him leaving with Emilie." She paused. "So I went up there, killed Emilie's sister -"

"So _you_ killed Marie," he said, pointing at her.

"Yes, I did. And then I replaced her in the lead female role - just before the third act, though; I let her perform in the first two acts. Then I went onstage for the third act and started singing a love duet with Cameron. He knew who I was, and by the end of the song, so did everyone else." She took a deep breath. "Then I sang something extra - a plea to have him stay with me. But that didn't work out as well as I'd hoped."

"Why?"

"He removed my mask. But again, that's something that will come up later." She paused. "I was so angry that I dragged him down to my lair with me and was going to force him to marry me right then."

He raised his eyebrows. "_Somebody_ wanted to settle down fast."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Yes. But then Emilie came along... and this is where Cameron is his harshest." She paused. "Before Emilie had come, Cameron had tried to suffocate me and kill me. But he failed. I threatened him, and then he started getting dressed into a nice outfit."

"So where did Emilie come in?"

"A few minutes after that. She was going to save him from getting killed by me, because she thought that I'd be in such a horrid temper with him. But then, when I let Emilie in my lair, Cameron tried suffocating me again." She paused, and tears filled her eyes as she remembered Emilie's compassion. "Emilie saved me from him. She pried his hands off of my neck." She shook her head. "I knew he couldn't stay with me after that... so I let him go with her."

"And that's the end?" he asked.

"No. When they were gone, my friend - the only one I have besides you, you know - came down. He worked at the Opera, you see. Then he told me that a mob set out to kill me was coming to get me. The mob is what you heard when we first met." She paused. "And then I escaped... but then the mob imprisoned me."

"And then you found me, and I found you."

"Yes."

He nodded. "Wow," he breathed after a moment. "That was an amazing story."

"I suppose," she replied, shrugging. Then she said, "Now, Marc, I have one last thing to show you... the reason I wear this mask; the reason that Cameron could never really love me."

She hesitated for a moment, then reached up to her mask and pulled it off. She placed it in her lap and sat, looking at him, expecting some sort of insult or horrified reaction.

He gazed at her deformity, for some reason not feeling the least bit terrified of it. It was bad, yes, but it didn't scare him.

The deformity was red and raw, and covered the entire upper right side of her face. It looked like some sort of terrible burn.

"What happened?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "Nothing. I was born with it. I got it from my father. His is smiliar."

He continued to look - not stare - at it. It looked painful. He reached out to touch it, and, much to her own surprise, she didn't pull away. It didn't feel rough, as it looked, but instead rather soft and warm. "Does it hurt?" he asked gently.

She looked surprised by the question. "No, it's never actually hurt me."

He nodded and pulled his hand away. Then he saw the mask resting in her lap and reached out his hand for it. "May I see the mask?"

She handed it to him, and he held it in his hands, marveling at it. It was wax, and made to fit her face perfectly. Smiling, he handed it back to her. "Fascinating."

"Thank you." She took it from him and put it back in place. She rose from the chair. "Well, Marc, it's been nice knowing you," she said sadly. "Thank you for your kindness and hospitality." Then she began to walk out of the parlor.


	9. Chapter 9: Marc's Proposition

Marc grabbed Christine's wrist. "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving, of course. I can't stay here, not after all I've told you. You'll turn me in to the authorities now, but I'll be gone when they arrive, though."

"Christine, I'm _not_ going to turn you in," he said firmly. "That would be heartless after I've been sheltering you for three weeks. If I was going to turn you in, I would have done it a week ago, when the police came looking for you."

"_Really?_" she exclaimed. "Oh, Marc, thank you so much! You're so kind! Thank you!"

He smiled. "You're welcome." He paused. "You know, it's probably not safe for you to stay here in Paris, perhaps even in France. You and I should temporarily move to a safer place. It's just a question of where." He considered, then snapped his fingers. "I've got it! We'll go to London! My mother will let us live at her house." He looked at her. "Is that all right with you? I just want to make sure you stay safe."

She considered. "Will your mother turn me in when we tell her who I am?" she asked nervously.

"I don't see why we need to tell her, Christine."

"You're not going to tell your mother who I am?" she asked incredulously.

He grinned mischieviously. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

She gazed at him thoughtfully, then nodded. "All right."

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "We leave first thing tomorrow morning on the earliest possible train to Calais, and then the earliest possible ship to Portsmouth. Then we'll take the train to London."

"No, no trains or ships," she objected. "The police will be looking for me on every kind of public transportation going anywhere - even to the United States, most likely. They'll get me for sure."

"You're right," he agreed. "Well, there's no fast way to get to Calais than by train... and there's no way to get to England at all except for on a ship."

She bit her lip thoughtfully for a moment. "Could we stow away?"

"Well, I suppose that would be the only way for you to get to London without getting caught, as long as we don't get caught stowing away. All right, that's what we'll do."

"Okay. I'll go pack." Then she went upstairs to pack.

He nodded, then went to go pack his own bags.


	10. Chapter 10: Meeting Mrs Wellington

A few days later, a cab pulled up to a big house on the outskirts of London - Wellington Estate, the house and five acres of land that Marc's mother lived in and the house that Marc and his older sisters had grown up in.

"Marc, it's lovely!" Christine gasped. "You grew up _here_?"

Marc smiled. "Yes. I'm glad you like it." He got out of the cab and helped her out of her side.

"By the way," he continued, "I believe this is yours." He pulled a large length of black material out of his satchel and handed it to her.

After a moment, she recognized it as her cloak. She let out a cry of delight and buried her face in the material. Then she looked back up at him and smiled the biggest smile she'd ever smiled towards him at him. "Thank you! Oh, I'm so glad you brought it."

"Of course I brought it. I washed it. It was all bloodstained and covered in dirt, so it took me some time to get it all the way clean, but it's all clean now."

She smiled again. "Well, thank you. What about my dress that I was wearing that night?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "Are you joking? That dress was too far - gone to be saved. Sorry."

"That's all right," she replied, putting her cloak on over her shoulders and putting the hood on over her head.

"You're wearing that now? It's April."

She nodded. "Yes. I don't want people seeing my mask. I'll wear it the short length from here to inside."

"Okay," he said, shrugging. "Get your bags. Let's go."

They got their bags and Marc paid the cabdriver. Then they walked up to the front porch of Wellington Estate, Christine standing behind Marc, the hood of her cloak over her head. He knocked on the door.

A gray - haired woman in a gray silk dress who was slightly taller than Marc opened the door. "Marc, darling!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him.

He returned the embrace, smiling. "Hello, Mother."

The woman let go of him. "What brings you here, Marc dear?"

"We came to visit you," he replied.

Since the woman hadn't seen Christine, who still stood behind him, she inquired, "'We'?"

He stepped to the side, allowing her to see Christine. "Mother, allow me to introduce Christine Vasille, my friend from Paris." He turned to Christine. "Christine, this is my mother."

Christine curtsied, extending her left hand slightly, her fingers just missing the woman's outstretched hand, still looking up at the woman. "_Madame_," she said softly, "it is a pleasure to meet you, and I apologize for my intrusion on this private moment of reunion."

Mrs. Wellington gazed at Christine momentarily, then returned the curtsy and replied, "It's lovely to meet you, Christine dear." She stepped aside. "Won't you both come in?"

Marc and Christine entered the house, and Marc let out a sigh of ecstasy as he placed his suitcase down on the floor and looked around, smiling. "Home sweet home."

Christine was looking around the house as she set her suitcase down, too, but not because of any 'home sweet home'. She was stunned by the house's size. "What a lovely house you have, _Madame_ Wellington," she commented.

Mrs. Wellington smiled. "Thank you, dear. I'll show you to your rooms. Follow me, please, Christine dear."

Christine picked up her suitcase and followed Mrs. Wellington upstairs. Then they came to a bedroom with a huge window that looked out the entire back of Wellington Estate.

"This is wonderful, _madame_," Christine breathed, looking around as she slowly walked inside the room. She placed her suitcase on the bed and turned to Mrs. Wellington. "Thank you."

Mrs. Wellington smiled and nodded. "You're welcome, dear. When you're unpacked and settled in, come on downstairs and we'll have tea." Then she closed the door behind her.

When Mrs. Wellington came downstairs, Marc was still standing there, looking around.

"Oh, snap out of it, dear," she sighed, patting him on the arm and smiling fondly. "You remember where your old room is, right?"

"Yes, Mother," Marc replied.

"Well, then go upstairs and settle in, and when you're unpacked and settled in, come downstairs and we'll have tea."

Marc nodded, then made his way upstairs to his old room.

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When Marc and Christine had unpacked and settled in, the two of them and Mrs. Wellington had tea in the parlor.

"So, Christine, is my young Marcus here courting you?" Mrs. Wellington asked as she sipped her tea.

Marc's eyes widened, as though he was shocked by the question. "_Mother!_" he whispered.

Christine, meanwhile, nearly choked on her tea. She felt her face flush as she managed to stop coughing. "No, _madame_," she replied. "Marc isn't courting me. We are simply good friends."

"Ah," Mrs. Wellington said, nodding. "I see."

"Yes, Mother," Marc replied. "We're simply good friends." He paused, then added, "And please don't call me by my real name."

Christine actually laughed a real laugh. "Marcus."

"Don't call me that!" exclaimed Marc, starting to laugh along with her.

Mrs. Wellington smiled. "Yes... I can see that you two definitely aren't courting, especially when everything hints towards it."

Then they all three started laughing.


	11. Chapter 11: Meeting The Sisters

**A/N: I named Marc's older sisters Emmanuelle and Sarah after Emmy Rossum (whose real name is Emmanuelle) and Sarah Brightman, my favorite Christines!**

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A few days later, while Mrs. Wellington, Marc, and Christine were having breakfast, Mrs. Wellington asked Christine, "Christine dear, has Marcus told you that he has older sisters?"

Christine swallowed her tea and placed down her teacup. "He mentioned it in passing, yes," she replied. "I'm actually wearing clothes that belong to one of them."

Mrs. Wellington nodded. "Yes, well, they're both coming to visit today."

Marc nealy choked on his tea. "They're coming to visit?" he gasped. "Emmanuelle and Sarah? Here? _Today?_"

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Wellington replied. "Is there a problem with that?"

"Well, no," Marc sighed resignedly. "I suppose not." He glanced at Christine. "Is that all right with you, Christine?"

Christine shrugged. "I don't really have a problem with it. They're your family... I assume they're nice people."

"They are - most of the time, anyway," Marc added.

"Why, Marcus!" exclaimed Mrs. Wellington. "I'm ashamed of you. Your sisters are very decent people."

"You don't know them like I do," Marc replied. "Sarah was one of the meanest people in her age group when we went to school, and she still is one of the meanest people I know. She's a bully, she is."

Mrs. Wellington sighed and shook her head. "Oh, if you say so. But anyway, they should both be here around three o'clock."

"Will she mind that I'm wearing a dress that belongs to her - whichever one of them the clothes belong to, I mean?" Christine asked.

Marc gazed at her for a moment. "We'd bettter get you a new dress to wear. Maybe we should get you more than one, actually, depending on how long they stay. You're wearing one of Sarah's dresses. She doesn't like people wearing her clothes."

"Marcus James Wellington!" exclaimed Mrs. Wellington. "Quit picking on your sister." She turned to Christine. "I'm sure Sarah won't mind, dear," she said. "She's a very nice person."

"When she wants to be," Marc added.

Not bothering to argue with her son any more, Mrs. Wellington simply sighed and said to Christine, "There's no need to go to town and get a new dress, Christine. You'll be all right."

Christine nodded. "All right."

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At three o'clock that afternoon, Mrs. Wellington, Marc, and Christine were sitting in the parlor when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Marc said, rising and walking over to the front door.

When he opened the door, he saw a young woman who was six years older than he with brown hair and piercing blue eyes, dressed in a blue silk dress, standing there. It was Sarah, the older of his two older sisters.

"Sarah!" he exclaimed, stepping forward and embracing his older sister. "How good it is to see you again."

When they broke apart, Sarah smiled. "Hello, little brother." Then, without waiting for an invitation, she brushed past him and went into the parlor. He closed and locked the door and followed her.

He saw Sarah and Mrs. Wellington embracing and kissing each other on each cheek when he stepped into the parlor. Christine had vanished.

"Where's Christine?" he asked Mrs. Wellington.

"She's in the kitchen, making tea for us," Mrs. Wellington replied as she broke away from her oldest child and they both sat.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "Who's Christine?" she asked Marc.

"My friend."

Mrs. Wellington tapped Sarah on the shoulder, and Sarah leaned closer to her mother. Then Mrs. Wellington whispered, "Christine is your brother's new courter."

"Oh?" Sarah replied, grinning mischieviously and looking at her little brother. "Got a new one, have you? That's the only reason that you ever come back here, so that we can meet your new lady friend, isn't it?"

"Hold your tongue, Sarah," Marc replied, looking annoyed. "Christine and I aren't courting. We're just good friends."

"Have you kissed her yet? You've never kissed the other girls."

"_Sarah!_"

"I bet he has," Mrs. Wellington said to Sarah, giving her a knowing look. "There's something different about this girl."

"_Mother!_"

Just then, Christine walked into the parlor, a tray of tea, teacups, saucers, and biscuits in her hands.

Sarah was quite obviously taken aback by the mask on the right side of Christine's face. She gaped at Christine, who seemed to be quite unaware that she wasn't the only one in the parlor.

Marc gazed at Christine for a moment, too, then looked at Sarah and saw her gaping at Christine. He slapped her lightly on her cheek in order for her to snap out of it.

When Sarah was back to her senses, Marc said to Christine, "Christine, I'd like you to meet one of my sisters, Sarah."

Christine looked up at Sarah from where she was looking down at the table where the tray was and straightened herself as Sarah stood.

"A pleasure to meet you, _Mademoiselle_ Wellington, and I apologize for making the cruel assumption that '_Mademoiselle_' is the correct form of address," Christine said politely, curtsying.

"That's quite all right," Sarah replied, returning the curtsy. "It is, in fact, correct. And please, call me Sarah, Miss..."

"Vasille," Christine finished. "Christine Vasille. But please, call me Christine."

Sarah nodded. "So 'Miss' and not 'Mrs.' is the correct form of address, then, considering your last name?" she asked, giving Marc a knowing look.

"Yes," Christine replied, feeling her face flush slightly.

Then the doorbell rang again, and Marc went to answer it. This time he returned with a young woman who was a little over a year older than he that looked exactly like Sarah and was wearing a red dress - Emmanuelle, Marc and Sarah's sister, the middle Wellington child.

When Mrs. Wellington and Sarah had greeted Emmanuelle, Marc said to Emmanuelle, "Emmanuelle, I'd like you to meet Christine Vasille, my good friend."

Christine curtsied. "It's nice to meet you, _Mademoiselle_ Wellington. Once again, I'm sorry for making the assumption that '_Mademoiselle_' is the correct form of address."

"It's correct," Emmanuelle, who wasn't fazed by Christine's mask, replied, curtsying back, "Although not for much longer!" she finished, giggling and holding up her left hand to show that she was wearing a ring on her ring finger.

Mrs. Wellington's eyes widened. "You're engaged!" she gasped, taking Emmanuelle's left hand in hers and gazing at the the ring.

Sarah took Emmanuelle's left hand from Mrs. Wellington's hand and placed it in her own, taking her turn at looking at the ring. "Wow," she breathed, looking up at her little sister. "Albert proposed, then?"

Emmanuelle nodded and smiled. "We're hoping to marry in August. Of course, you're all invited." She turned to Christine, who had started to slink into the back of the parlor, since she felt left out, and smiled. "You may come, too, Christine - that is, if you and Marc are still courting by then."

"We're _not_ courting, Emmanuelle," Marc snapped. "We're just friends. I do wish you all wouldn't get the wrong impression."

The three Wellington ladies looked at each other, then shrugged.

Sarah sat down. "Well, let's have some tea, shall we?" she said, changing the subject. She poured herself some tea into a cup and sliced a slice of lemon, putting it in the tea.

Christine's face brightened. "You knew it was Russian?" she exclaimed, sitting down next to Sarah and pouring herself a cup as well.

Sarah nodded and smiled as she sipped and swallowed her tea. "It's my favorite kind of tea," she replied.

"Mine, too!" Christine said enthusiastically, thrilled that she was finding a common ground with someone she hardly knew. "I make it and drink it all the time."

"Me, too," Sarah said, smiling. Then she looked at her mother, sister, and brother. "You all should try this tea," she said. "It's very good... I do believe that it's a lot healthier than English tea."

Marc, Mrs. Wellington, and Emmanuelle sat down and took her suggestion by starting to pour themselves a cup of Russian tea. Then they all sat, drinking tea and talking until very late in the evening.


	12. Chapter 12: A Gift From Mrs Wellington

About two weeks after Marc's sisters had come to Wellington Estate to visit and then returned to where they lived, Christine started wandering around Wellington Estate, looking around the house and the land.

She eventually wandered to the stables, which were out in the front of the five - acre field that Wellington Estate was on. She had been there several times, but she noticed a horse that she hadn't seen before.

The horse was a beautiful horse. It had a black shiny coat, a long black mane, and it stood tall and proud. Christine fell in love with it in an instant.

"Is this one a boy or a girl?" she asked Harry, one of the stable hands, motioning to the horse.

"That one there is a boy, miss," Harry replied. "Although I wouldn't go near that one. He's not tame. The people who owned him before sold him to us for a very inexpensive price, since they didn't think anyone here would try to break him."

"Was he tame once?"

"He was, miss," Harry said, "but then he got into a bad accident. His rider, a young lady who lived in a house like this up in Yorkshire, died as a result. Then that horse there was injured badly. On his front right leg, see? Don't get too close, now!"

Christine stepped forward slightly and peered over the horse's stable gate to see the leg. It was wrapped in bandages, and the horse could hardly stand on it.

"Isn't anyone going to try to help him?" she asked Harry.

"I'm afraid not, miss. The most he'll let us do is wrap the leg. He won't let anyone ride him, so we can't help is leg any more than we already do." Harry sighed and shook his head. "It's a plumb shame, though. He sure is a beauty."

She nodded and looked at the horse thoughtfully for a moment. "I could help him," she said decidedly.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Miss?"

"You heard me," she replied, looking at Harry. "I could help him. Train him again, break him."

"Have you any experience with horses?"

"Not really."

"Well, then you'll pardon me, miss, but it's not a bright idea. Even _I_ can't do anything with him, and I've been working with horses since I was twelve." Harry paused. "You might try asking the mistress, though, if you want anything to do with that one there."

She nodded. "I think I will."

Then, without waiting for a reply, she walked out of the stables and back inside the house to find Mrs. Wellington.

Mrs. Wellington was sitting in the parlor, sewing up a tear in one of her stockings. She looked up, saw Christine standing in the doorway, and smiled. "There you are, Christine dear." She motioned around her to other torn clothes that she was patching up. "Would you like to help me?"

"Not right now; thank you," Christine replied politely. "I was wanting to ask you a question."

"Certainly, dear. What?"

"Do you know about the new horse in the stables?"

Mrs. Wellington looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure I do," she confessed. "We have quite a few new horses now. Which one?"

"Follow me, and I'll show you," Christine replied, then walked out of the parlor. Mrs. Wellington stood up and followed her.

They walked outside to the stables together, and then, when the black horse came in sight, Christine pointed at him. "That one."

"Oh, the rogue," Mrs. Wellington sighed. "Yes... so unfortunate what happened to that poor young lady. What about him, dear?"

"May I help him? Break him?"

Mrs. Wellington raised her eyebrows. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," she said hesitantly. "It could be dangerous. Why do you want him so badly?"

"He's beautiful," Christine sighed, gazing at the horse wistfully. "I'd love to take care of him."

"Well, we have ones that are just as beautiful and not nearly as dangerous -"

"I don't care how dangerous he is," Christine cut in stubbornly. "He's the most beautiful horse, and I want him. I don't want another one." She pointed at the horse. "I want him or none."

Mrs. Wellington looked at Christine for a long moment, then sighed resignedly. "Oh, very well. If you insist on having him, then you may have him. Do what you want with him - he's yours."

Christine looked stunned that she had gotten her way. "Truly?"

"Truly."

"Oh, thank you, _madame_!" Christine exclaimed delightedly, smiling at Mrs. Wellington. "Thank you so much!" She paused. "Has he a name?"

"Not that I know of," Mrs. Wellington replied. "You'll have to ask Harry. But now I'm going back inside."

Without waiting for a reply, Mrs. Wellington walked out of the stables and back to the house.

Christine glanced at Harry, who had been standing nearby, observing. "Well, has he a name, Harry?" she demanded.

"He does, miss," Harry replied. "I believe that his former master named him Charles."

"Charles. How ordinary!" Christine scoffed. "He's too beautiful to have such a boring name. I shall think of a better one."

There was a moment of silence, and Harry began to wonder to himself if the young visitor had suddenly forgotten about re - naming the horse. Sighing, he turned away and started to work on his stable duties.

Christine looked at the horse thoughtfully for a moment, stepping closer to him, as she considered. Then she suddenly smiled. "_Minuit!_" she exclaimed, stepping ever closer to the horse.

Harry turned back to her, looking confused. "What?"

"I'm going to name him Minuit," she replied.

"What's 'Minuit'?" he asked.

"It means 'midnight' in French," she explained, gazing at Minuit for a moment. "Yes, he's a black as midnight... Minuit will do very nicely for him."

After gazing at Minuit for a few more minutes silently, she turned and made her way out of the stables and back to the house without another word.


	13. Chapter 13: Morning Riding

**A/N: Sorry it's been a while since I updated! School is back in session for me, so I haven't had a chance to write. But it's the weekend now, and I'm going to write as much as possible!**

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About a week later, Marc came downstairs early in the morning, expecting to find Christine there since she hadn't been in her room - the door had been open, and he hadn't seen her there.

But she wasn't there, and he instead saw Mrs. Wellington, sitting in the parlor and reading.

"Mother, do you know where Christine is?" he asked.

"Christine?" Mrs. Wellington said vaguely. "Oh, yes... she's outside, trying to get on that rogue's good side."

"Who? Minuit?"

"Yes, dear," she sighed. "Minuit. Go see if you can talk some sense into her, would you? I don't want her to be the next young lady getting killed by the horse."

"All right, Mother," he replied, grabbing his nearby riding boots and starting to put them on.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

He looked up at his mother from where he sat and smiled. "What's the point of being near a horse if you can't ride?"

"Don't ride that rogue, Marcus."

"I won't, Mother," he sighed. "I'm going to ride Phillip. But if Christine insists on riding Minuit, then I'm going to take an early - morning ride with her on Phillip."

She smiled. "I knew that you two were courting."

"We're _not_!" he retorted. "She's just my friend."

"Oh, please, dear; quit pretending, would you? You stare at her like she's God Himself when she sings at night while I play accompaniment - you stare at her any time! And then -"

"I don't stare at her!"

"Oh, you do," she replied, smiling. "And then you go on early - morning rides with her." She paused. "The rate you're going at with her, I'll be a grandmother by next spring."

He looked shocked. "_Mother! _How improper of you to suggest that Christine and I have -" He stopped short and started blushing.

"You're blushing, dear."

He cleared his throat and looked down at her haughtily as he stood up. "So?"

She simply smiled and resumed her reading. "Go on outside, Marcus. I'm sure your courter is getting lonely being with that rogue all by herself."

Without replying, he pulled on his jacket to protect himself from the cold early - morning air and walked outside towards the stables.

He found Christine out in a field near the stables that she'd fenced off for an area to train Minuit, leading Minuit around on a rope while running around the edge of the fence. Every so often, she stopped and held a treat of some sort out for him, and he'd gladly accept it.

After watching her for a moment, he smiled and walked into the stables. Then he saddled and bridled his horse, Phillip, and led him outside to the fence that Christine and Minuit were working inside of.

He and Phillip watched them for a few minutes before Christine happened to look up and see them there.

"Good morning!" she greeted him brightly, smiling and walking over to where he and Phillip stood as Minuit followed her.

"Good morning," he replied, smiling back at her. "How's training going?"

She shrugged. "Fine. Minuit's getting better... and he trusts me completely now. His leg is healing up, too. See?" She pointed down to the injured leg, which was healing up nicely.

He nodded and smiled. "Good. I'm glad." He paused. "Have you taken him out for a ride yet?"

"With a saddle and bridle?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "No." She paused and smiled slightly. "I rode him bareback."

His eyes widened in obvious shock. "_What?_"

"You heard me," she said coolly. "A saddle and bridle are unnecessary cruelties. Minuit chooses to carry me." She paused. "Why?"

"Well," he said with a little laugh, "I was supposed to try and convince you to quit training him, but you're not training him much any more. You're riding - bareback!"

She nodded. "Yes." She gazed at Minuit, who was standing next to her, for a moment. Then she turned to Marc. "Would you like to ride with me? Right now?"

He smiled and nodded. "All right."

So she led Minuit outside of the fenced area, untied the rope that was on his neck, and draped it over the fence.

His eyes widened in surprise. "You don't even use a rope to have a hold on him?"

"No."

"What _do_ you use?"

She didn't reply and instead pulled herself up and swung her right leg over Minuit's back. Then she grabbed onto his mane gently with her hands and looked over at where Marc stood. "That."

He shook his head. "Wow. And you don't even ride side - saddle."

"Of course not," she retorted. "It's dreadfully uncomfortable. I don't know how any lady who rides a horse that does stands it." She raised her eyebrows. "Are you coming or not?"

"Oh, right," he replied, then put one foot in the stirrup and swung his right leg over Phillip's back. Then he grabbed the reins and looked at her, nodding. "Let's go. You lead."

Without replying, she yelled, "Yah!" and Minuit started riding away.

He followed her example and yelled, "Yah!" Then Phillip started following Minuit and Christine.

They rode for a long time, until they came to a small but thick forest that was past Wellington Estate. Then Marc stopped Phillip, and Christine, looking behind her and seeing that he did, turned Minuit around and rode him back to where Marc and Phillip were.

"What?" she asked when she was close enough to him so that he would hear her.

He looked past her at the forest uncertainly. "I think we should go back now," he said hesitantly.

"Go back?" she scoffed. "Are you telling me that you're afraid of that forest? My God, I've ridden through there with Minuit every morning ever since he let me start riding him!"

"You have?" he gasped, again shocked.

She nodded. "Yes. It's very small, in case you didn't know that, and once you get through it, there's a small creek. If we go through there, we'll get to the creek, and then the horses can drink, and we can rest. Then we'll ride all the way back to the stables."

He shrugged and sighed. "All right, then. Go ahead. You lead."

Then, without replying, she started ridung Minuit down through the forest. He followed her.

After riding through the forest, they came to the river, stopped their horses, and dismounted. Then they both led their horses over to the creek, and the horses started drinking.

"How long have you been riding Minuit?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Five days."

"Were you going to tell anyone?" he asked, looking shocked by the fact that she'd earned Minuit's trust so quickly - only two days after Mrs. Wellington had allowed her to have him.

She shrugged. "Possibly. But then they'd want to see, and they'd see me riding with one leg on each side. Then they'd think that I was an improper French girl with no sense of propriety. I don't want them thinking that about me."

"They wouldn't."

"I may not know much about English high society customs, but I know that they would. I know that much," she said absently, patting Minuit's back. Then Minuit quit drinking the water, turned, and walked over to her.

He watched as she smiled at Minuit and caressed his smooth, velvety nose with one hand, murmuring words in French softly. After a moment, he realized that his mother had been right - he _did_ stare at her.

Blinking, he shook his head and cleared his throat. "Do you want to go back now?"

"No. Not yet," she sighed. "I like being out here. It's so peaceful and quiet... and it's the only place that I feel like I can entirely be myself any more." She shook her head as she gazed at Minuit. "Your mother makes me nervous."

He laughed. "What?"

"It's true. I feel like we _are_ courting, although we're really not, and that she's watching my every move, making sure that I'm perfect enough to be with her son. So I feel that I have to hold myself back a bit when I'm around her."

"You shouldn't have to, though."

She nodded. "Yes, I should. If I don't hold myself back some, she's bound to figure out who I am. I can't have that... I can't have her turn me in so that I go back to that hell that I was in for four days."

He shook his head, gazing at her intently. "You won't have to go back to that, Christine. Not ever. I'll make sure that you don't, even if someone finds out who you are. I'll protect you."

Surprised, she glanced at him over Minuit's tall back. "You will?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know," she murmured, starting to feel a little uncomfortable talking to him. "Let's go back now."

He nodded and placed his foot in one of Phillip's saddle stirrups as she pulled herself up, swung her right leg over Minuit's back, grabbed his mane, and started turning and riding back through the forest. He followed her.


	14. Chapter 14: Inside The Mind Of Marc

**Disclaimer: I don't own the song _My Immortal_ by Evanescence. If you'll remember from The Phantom's Daughter, I made it that Christine was the original composer of it.**

**A/N: This chapter is coming sooner than expected.**

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About two weeks later, after Marc, Christine, and Mrs. Wellington had had supper and Christine and Mrs. Wellington had washed the dishes, the three of them made their way into the parlor for Mrs. Wellington and Christine's nightly performance.

"All right, Christine dear," Mrs. Wellington sighed, sitting down on the piano bench. "What are we going to play tonight?"

"Do you think that we could maybe play a song of mine that I wrote?" Christine asked uncertainly, not wanting to irritate Mrs. Wellington. "I wrote the accompaniment for it, if you're up to it."

Mrs. Wellington nodded and smiled. "That's fine, dear. Just go upstairs and get the piano music."

Christine nodded, then went upstairs to go get the piano accompaniment. She returned a few moments later with staff paper that had notes on it. Handing it to Mrs. Wellington, she asked, "Do you need to practice first?"

"No, I'm fine," Mrs. Wellington replied. "I'll just sightread. When do you want me to start?"

"Hold on a moment," Christine replied, standing in front of where Marc was sitting on the sofa and taking a deep breath. Then she turned to Mrs. Wellington and nodded. "When you're ready, _madame_."

Mrs. Wellington nodded, then started playing as Christine turned back and faced Marc. When it was the right time, she started singing.

_I'm so tired of being here,_

_Suppressed by all my childish fears._

_And if you have to leave,_

_I wish that you would just leave,_

_'Cause your presence still lingers here,_

_And it won't leave me alone..._

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time cannot erase_

_When you cried,_

_I'd wipe away all of your tears,_

_When you'd scream,_

_I'd fight away all of your fears,_

_And I held your hand_

_Through all of these years,_

_But you still have_

_All of me..._

_You used to captivate me_

_By your resonating light -_

_Now I'm bound_

_By the life you've left behind..._

_Your face, it haunts_

_My once pleasant dreams_

_Your voice, it chased away_

_All the sanity in me_

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time cannot erase_

_When you cried,_

_I'd wipe away all of your tears,_

_When you'd scream,_

_I'd fight away all of your fears,_

_And I held your hand_

_Through all of these years,_

_But you still have_

_All of me..._

_I've tried so hard to tell myself_

_That you're gone,_

_But though you're still with me,_

_I've been alone all along..._

_When you cried,_

_I'd wipe away all of your tears,_

_When you'd scream,_

_I'd fight away all of your fears,_

_And I held your hand_

_Through all of these years,_

_But you still have_

_All of me..._

When she was done and Mrs. Wellington was done playing the piano, Marc smiled and applauded. "Wonderful, Christine."

"Yes, Christine dear," Mrs. Wellington echoed, turning to face Christine as she smiled. "Beautiful, perfect, and crystal clear, as always."

Christine smiled at them. "Thank you, _madame_ and Marc. You are both very kind." She then suddenly closed her eyes and took an unexpectedly deep breath.

Marc and Mrs. Wellington were instantly worried.

"Christine?" Marc said nervously, standing up and putting a hand on her elbow. "Are you all right?"

Mrs. Wellington rose from the piano and placed her hand on Christine's back. "What's the matter, Christine dear?" She placed a hand on Christine's forehead. "Do you feel ill?"

Christine opened her eyes after a moment. "I'm fine," she said softly, smiling and shrugging it off. "I'm just... tired, I suppose." She paused and sighed. "I think I'll go to bed."

"That might be a good idea," Mrs. Wellington replied, nodding and still looking worried. "Marcus, take her upstairs, would you? I don't want her passing out and falling down the steps."

Marc nodded. "All right. Come on, Christine."

Christine nodded and made her way to the stairs. Then she started walking up the stairs, Marc following behind her.

When they reached her closed bedroom door, she turned to him and smiled slightly. "Good night, Marc."

"Good night. Are you sure you're all right? Maybe I should get you some medicine."

"I'm fine," she said reassuringly. "I just need to rest. I'm tired from singing and playing the piano and riding Minuit... I'll be fine tomorrow."

He nodded. "All right, then. Good night."

"Good night." Then she turned, opened her bedroom door, and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

He gazed at the door for a moment, then turned and made his way down the hall to his own bedroom, since he was feeling tired himself.

As he turned on the light in his bedroom, shut the door behind him, and started changing into pajamas, he thought about Christine.

He was worried about her. It looked like she was sick, even though she'd insisted that she was fine. Hopefully she'd be better in the morning.

But he didn't stop thinking about her after that. He started thinking about who she was. There were many words that you could use to describe Christine. Angel... phantom... orphan... singer... musician... magician... beauty...

That made him stop short. Beauty? _Christine?_

After a moment's consideration, he decided that Christine admittedly did, indeed, possess some sort of rare beauty about her that his past courters - young women that he had actually courted - hadn't had. There was something oddly captivating about her.

But did he love her?

He stood there for a moment thoughtfully, then sighed and decided that he'd think about it the next day.

Then he turned off the light in his room, crawled into bed, covered himself up, and soon fell asleep.

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The next morning, Marc awoke to see a ray of sunshine peeping through the curtains of his bedroom door.

He sat up, stretched, and got out of bed. Then he started dressing.

When he was dressed, he made his way downstairs, where he heard two women talking and something clattering in the kitchen.

When he walked into the kitchen, he found himself breathless.

Christine was standing there, cooking a breakfast of eggs and sausage and talking with Mrs. Wellington. She was dressed in the single most beautiful black dress that he'd ever seen, and it was actually her dress, and her jet - black hair was pulled back into a French braid.

She was _beautiful_.

He stared at her openmouthedly for a moment, enraptured by her. This was the first time that he'd really _noticed_ her. For the first time, it was occuring to him that Christine Vasille was a young woman... and he liked it.

Mrs. Wellington then happened to glanced in his direction and see him. She saw him before he saw her, so she saw him staring at Christine. She smiled, then cleared her throat to get his attention.

He snapped out of his trance. Smiling quickly, he nodded to his mother. "Good morning, Mother."

"Good morning, Marcus," Mrs. Wellington replied, still smiling.

Then he glanced back at Christine, who had turned her head to him and was gazing at him intently. "Good morning, Christine," he said softly, nodding and smiling.

Christine smiled. "_Bonjour_, Marc." Then she turned her attention back to her cooking.

He stared at her - not openmouthedly this time, though - for another moment, then asked, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You don't need to do anything, Marcus," Mrs. Wellington replied. "Just go sit and wait until Christine and I serve breakfast."

He nodded, then walked out of the kitchen and back upstairs to his bedroom. Now that he was sure that he loved Christine, he had a lot to think about.


	15. Chapter 15: Hidden Truths

**A/N: Here's some more of Marc's feelings for Christine. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the song _The Trouble With Love Is_ by Kelly Clarkson. I just made it that Christine was the original composer of it.**

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A few days later, Marc sat in the parlor, staring at Christine, who was sitting on the piano bench, playing the piano and singing one of the many songs that she'd written herself, her back turned to him.

He let out a soft sigh and rested his chin on one of his hands, which he'd curled into a fist, still watching her, entranced.

He loved her. Oh, God, he loved her. She was beautiful, she was smart, she was talented, she was confident and yet so insecure at the same time... she was perfect.

As she finished singing and playing the piano for the song that she'd been performing, he smiled and applauded. "Well done, Christine." He sighed. "I wish I had musical talent."

Christine turned to face him and smiled. "Oh, I'm sure you have some sort of talent," she said optimistically. "You've got something to offer to the world... everyone does." She sighed and turned back to the piano, staring down at her hands, which were resting on the piano keys. "I just can't offer what I have to the world."

"Why not?" he murmured, almost dreamily, since he was back to resting his chin on his fist and staring at her.

She looked surprised and turned to him. "Why, I thought it would be obvious." She pointed at her mask on her face. "That's why, Marc. This mask is who I am. The majority of people who would see me like this in public would think - well, _know_ - that I am who I am." She paused. "And even if I wasn't who I am, then I'd still have the mask, and people would hate me once they found out what was underneath."

"No, they wouldn't."

"Yes, they would. Celebrity doesn't last once people find out your dark secrets." She sighed. "And besides, everyone who's ever known me hates me because of my face, except for my friend."

"I don't hate you," he said quietly. "I know what's under your mask, and I don't hate you."

"No, I don't hate you, Christine," he then thought to himself. "I love you. I just wish you saw it, and that you loved me, too."

His thoughts were interrupted by seeing her smile, which took his breath away. He loved her smile. Then she said, "Well, then you're the exception. But that's one out of hundreds - thousands, maybe - of Parisians, and one out of millions of other people in the world that know of me."

"Well..." His voice trailed off. Then he changed the subject and asked, "Could you play something else, please?"

She nodded and smiled, turning back to the piano. "Certainly. Something of mine?"

He nodded. "Yes. I love your songs. They're so brilliant."

"Well, thank you." She paused as she considered. Then she started playing the piano and singing.

_Love can be a many splendid thing -_

_Can't deny the joy it brings..._

_A dozen roses,_

_Diamond rings;_

_Dreams for sale_

_And fairy tales..._

_It'll make you hear a symphony,_

_And you just want the world to see_

_But like a drug that makes you blind,_

_It'll fool you every time..._

_The trouble with love is -_

_It can tear you up inside,_

_Make your heart believe a lie..._

_It's stronger than your pride_

_The trouble with love is -_

_It doesn't care how fast you fall,_

_And you can't refuse the call -_

_See, you've got no say at all..._

_Now I was a once a fool, it's true -_

_I played the game by all the rules_

_But now my world's a deeper blue_

_I'm sadder, but I'm wiser too..._

_I swore I'd never love again..._

_I swore my heart would never mend..._

_Said love wasn't worth the pain..._

_But then I hear it call my name..._

_The trouble with love is -_

_It can tear you up inside,_

_Make your heart believe a lie..._

_It's stronger then your pride_

_The trouble with love is -_

_It doesn't care how fast you fall,_

_And you can't refuse the call -_

_See, you've got no say at all..._

_Every time I turn around,_

_I think I've got it all figured out_

_My heart keeps callin',_

_And I keep on fallin'_

_Over and over again_

_This set story always ends the same,_

_Me standin' in the pouring rain_

_It seems no matter what I do,_

_It tears my heart in two..._

_The trouble with love is -_

_It can tear you up inside,_

_Make your heart believe a lie..._

_It's stronger than your pride_

_It's in your heart, it's in your soul _

_You're losing all control,_

_And you can't refuse the call -_

_See, you've got no say at all..._

_The trouble with love is -_

_It can tear you up inside,_

_Make your heart believe a lie_

_The trouble with love..._

Then she stopped playing, and he started applauding. "Well done."

"Thank you," she sighed, turning to him and smiling slightly. Then she glanced at her pocketwatch. "It's late." She rose from the piano bench, stretching. "I think I'll go to bed now."

"Me, too," he murmured, rising and stretching himself. "Come on - I'll walk you to your door."

So they walked upstairs together and down the hallway to the closed door of her bedroom.

She turned to him. "Good night, Marc. Sleep well."

He nodded and smiled. "And you as well, Christine." He paused. "Oh, I meant to ask - are you feeling any better now? You know how you were tired a few days ago? Do you feel all right now?"

"I feel better, thank you. I was just tired, that's all."

"Good." He paused. "Well, good night."

"Good night," she said softly, then turned and opened the door, stepped inside her room, and closed the door behind her.

He gazed at her closed door for a moment, then turned and made his way down the hallway to his bedroom.

After he'd dressed into his pajamas and was about to crawl into bed, he felt the impulse to see Christine. The only time he would be able to see her without her mask on was when she was asleep, becuase he knew that she took off her mask to sleep.

He turned off the lights in his room, lit a candle, opened the door, and made his way down the hallway to Christine's bedroom door, which was closed.

As quietly as he could, he placed his hand on the knob, turned it, and opened the door. Then he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and gazed in the direction of the bed.

Christine was curled up into the tiniest ball a person of her height - she was shorter than he, but she was still rather tall - could possibly make, resting her head on her hands, which were on her pillow. Her breathing was deep and even, and she didn't make a sound as she slept.

He stepped a little closer to the bed so that he was an arm's length away from touching her. Then he gazed at her intently for a moment before he reached out his free hand and touched her deformity.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered to her, fully aware that she wouldn't hear him, as he started stroking her raw cheek. "So beautiful... if only you knew how I see you... if only you saw yourself the way I see you."

He was quiet for a moment before he let out a soft moan, still stroking her cheek.

"What do I tell you?" he murmured, more to himself now than to her. "How do I tell you what I feel for you? How can I make you see in yourself what _I_ see in you every day?"

There was silence as he tried to answer his own question.

Then he had an answer. "I won't tell you," he sighed resignedly. "What you don't know won't hurt you." He paused. "But I love you, Christine. I love you."

Feeling a slight release now that he'd told her about his feelings, even though she'd never remember it, he pulled his hand away from her face, turned, opened the door, and walked out, closing the door behind him quietly, and making his way back to his bedroom.


	16. Chapter 16: Found Out

The next day, Mrs. Wellington was shopping for food in town when she saw a huge crowd of people gathered nearby. She decided to find out what was going on and walked over to where everyone was standing.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen!" a man, who was standing in the middle of the crowd, announced. "As all or most of you know, The Phantom of the Opera has been on the loose for the past three months. So now more information is being given out so that she may be found sooner."

"Well, tell us the information!" a man demanded. The crowd agreed.

"All right," the man replied. "First off, The Phantom has black wavy hair that goes to her shoulders. She has grey - green eyes. Then, of course, she has a white half - mask on the right side of her face."

Mrs. Wellington drew in her breath sharply. She knew someone whose description matched The Phantom's perfectly. But it couldn't be - could it?

"Does The Phantom have a name besides 'The Phantom'?" she called out to the man.

"Um... I believe that she does," the man replied. "Hold on a moment - I believe that I have a name here on the paper that was sent to me."

The man pulled a paper out of his pants pocket and unfolded it, scanning it up and down. "Ah, yes," he said, pointing at the paper. "The Phantom does have a name. Her name is Christine."

Mrs. Wellington let out as soft a gasp as possible so that nobody would hear her. The Phantom's name was Christine! Surely not Christine, though, the polite masked girl from Paris, Marc's friend!

Without saying a word to anyone, she pushed out of the crowd and started rushing towards Wellington Estate. She would ask Marc - maybe he knew something about it.

"_Marcus!_" she called out when she entered the house, feeling angry all of a sudden. "Come here now!"

Marc came downstairs. "Yes, Mother?"

"I need to talk to you about Christine."

His face broke into a wide grin. "Me, too." He paused. "You go ahead first, though."

"I heard some news about The Phantom of the Opera in town today," she informed him. "The description and name matches Christine's perfectly!" She paused. "Is it true, Marcus? Is Christine The Phantom of the Opera?"

His smile faded, and he drew in his breath sharply. Then he looked at her for a moment before, not daring to lie to her, replied quietly, "Yes."

She looked at him in stunned silence for a moment. "Where is she?" she then demanded. "Where is Christine?"

"Outside, riding Minuit."

"Then we shall wait for her to return, and I will speak to her."

They didn't wait long. As they sat in the parlor, Marc standing behind Mrs. Wellington as she sat in a chair, Christine came into the house through the back door, her hair messy and her face flushed with the heat and happiness.

"_Madame_, Marc," - Christine nodded to each of them - "please excuse the state of my hair. It got messed up while I was riding Minuit."

"That's fine, Christine," Mrs. Wellington said to her, her voice sterner than other times that the two had talked, and for the first time not calling her _Christine dear_ or _dear_. "Right now, I'd like to speak with you."

"Certainly, _madame_. What is it?" Christine asked, walking over to the doorway of the parlor and standing there, her cloak still on.

Mrs. Wellington was silent for a moment. Then she asked, "Does the name _Cameron Luc_ sound familiar to you, Christine?"

Christine stiffened at the sound of Cameron's name, immediately aware that she'd been betrayed. She glared behind Mrs. Wellington at Marc, her eyes turning into slits. "I _trusted_ you," she hissed.

Marc bowed his head, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Christine," he said softly. "She came home and asked me about it, and I - I couldn't lie to her."

"So, you're The Phantom of the Opera, Christine?" Mrs. Wellington asked.

Christine sighed resignedly. "I'm afraid that is true, _madame_."

Mrs. Wellington nodded. "Very well." She rose from the chair and walked over to where Christine stood in the parlor doorway. "Now, Christine," she continued, "I'm going to do what my son should have done weeks ago - I'm going to turn you in to the authorities."

With that, Mrs. Wellington grabbed Christine's arm and began to steer her towards the front door.

"_No!_" Christine cried out, struggling. "Please, let me go!"

"Mother, no!" Marc exclaimed.

Mrs. Wellington continued to pull Christine towards and out the front door as Marc and Christine pleaded with her.

"Mother, please, let her go!" Marc begged, tears starting to fill his eyes.

"No, Marc! This is for your own good!" Mrs. Wellington shouted over a loudly protesting Christine in reply, unlocking and opening the front door and starting to pull Christine outside.

"Mother, _I love her_!"

Mrs. Wellington froze. Christine stopped protesting. They both turned to Marc as Mrs. Wellington let go of Christine's arm and Christine closed and locked the door. Stunned expressions were on both their faces, since now Mrs. Wellington had started to come to grips with the fact that Marc and Christine hadn't been courting.

"You _what_?" Mrs. Wellington hissed.

"I love her," Marc replied, his voice strong and sure as he turned to Christine, who was staring at him in bewilderment, and smiled a little. "I love her."

"How dare you!" Mrs. Wellington snarled, giving him a good slap in the face.

"Ouch!" he gasped, staggering back slightly and placing a hand on his cheek. Christine gasped in surprise.

"You are a disgrace!" Mrs. Wellington snapped, slapping her son again. "To be in love with a criminal - a _murderer_!" Then she continued slapping him as he let out cries of pain, powerless to stop her.

"No... stop... please..." Christine said softly, raising and extending a hand slightly in protest and taking a step forward.

Mrs. Wellington ignored her and continued beating Marc, who was cowering on the floor, trying to cover his face with his hands.

"Please... stop," Christine protested, a little louder this time. She was feeling her anger begin to rise.

Mrs. Wellington again continued beating Marc, who now had a bloody nose.

Seeing Marc's bloody nose was the last straw for Christine. Her anger boiled over now, she pounced on Mrs. Wellington and began to fight her. Marc, barely conscious, crawled to a safe place underneath the piano.

"_You are not to touch him!_" Christine shouted, pinning Mrs. Wellington to the floor and closing her slender fingers around Mrs. Wellington's neck.

Mrs. Wellington struggled, gasping for breath. Marc, hardly aware of what the scene in front of him was, watched.

Christine continued to tighten her grip on Mrs. Wellington's neck, blind with anger, as Mrs. Wellington continued to struggle for breath.

Then, suddenly, Mrs. Wellington went limp and quit struggling.

When she did, Christine released her grip on Mrs. Wellington's neck. Then she fearfully put two fingers on Mrs. Wellington's neck.

No reassuring pulse came.

Christine let out a gasp of horror, quickly standing up and looking down at Mrs. Wellington's body, panting. She'd killed her! She'd killed Marc's mother!

She looked down at Marc, who looked back at her as he started crawling out from underneath the piano, apparently quite senseless of what had just happened. Then she held up her bare hands - her weapons - and stared at them openmouthedly for a moment, slowly backing out of the parlor.

Then, letting out a cry that was a mix of a gasp of terror and a cry of fear, ran upstairs to pack clothes and leave.

When she'd stuffed her suitcases full of everything she needed, she opened the bedroom window and jumped from the second floor to the ground, landing on her feet in a cat - like manner. Then she sprinted towards the stables.

When she entered the stables, she looked around frantically for Minuit and found him. He whinnied a greeting to her as she entered his stable, keeping the gate open.

"Come on, Minuit," she cried out, pulling herself up and swinging her right leg over Minuit's back. "Let's get out of here. Yah!"

Minuit ran out of his stable, out of the stables, and towards where Christine steered him, to the boat docks in Portsmouth so the two of them would stow away on a boat to Calais, and then from Calais, stow away on a train to Paris.


	17. Chapter 17: Homecoming

**A/N: So... things have changed. What's gonna happen?**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the _Phantom_ (movie) song _Learn To Be Lonely_. I just made it that Christine was the original composer of it. (And she wrote it during The Phantom's Daughter time, but I never said so or used it.)**

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"_Home!_" Christine cried out as she stepped through the mirror that had the secret passageway hidden behind it before it had been broken and into her lair in Paris.

She ran to her room and collapsed on the swan bed, sobbing.

What a mess she'd made. She'd killed Mrs. Wellington in a moment of blind anger. Now she was back to her old self - a murderer once again. It was who she was meant to be, she knew now - a lonely murderer known as The Phantom of the Opera, lurking in the shadows and living in the catacombs of the Opera Populaire. Why had she thought she could have been otherwise?

Well, she knew why - she'd fallen in love with Marc. She'd thought that Marc would change everything for her, she'd thought that he might love her some day... but not any more. She'd ruined that by killing his mother.

She sat up in bed, wiping away her tears. Then she took a deep, shuddering breath, rose, and walked over to the piano. There, sitting on top of it, was syringes, needles, and small containers of clear liquid - her morphine that she'd used in her darker days.

The darker days were back again. She filled a sryinge with morphine, stuck it in her arm, and let out a soft sigh as she injected it into her arm. Then she pulled the needle out and sat down at the piano bench.

After a moment, she started playing the introduction to one of the many songs that she'd written. Then she started singing.

_Child of the wilderness,_

_Born into emptiness,_

_Learn to be lonely -_

_Learn to find your way in darkness..._

_Who will be there for you?_

_Comfort and care for you?_

_Learn to be lonely -_

_Learn to be your one companion..._

_Never dreamed out in the world_

_There are arms to hold you_

_You've always known_

_Your heart was on its own..._

_So laugh in your loneliness,_

_Child of the wilderness_

_Learn to be lonely_

_Learn how to love_

_Life that is lived alone..._

_Learn to be lonely -_

_Life can be lived_

_Life can be loved_

_Alone..._

Then she stopped playing, and after a moment, her face crumpled, and she started sobbing, resting her arm on the piano and resting her head on her arm.

After crying for several minutes, she lifted her head up and wiped her eyes.

What if she didn't want to be The Phantom any more? What if she didn't want to be anybody - nothing but a corpse?

She rose from the piano bench and walked over to the nearest wall. Taking a deep breath, she then began violently throwing herself against the wall. It seemed to be the easiest way to kill herself - quickly.

Much to her dismay, all she succeeded in was ruining her dress, knocking herself out for several hours, and giving herself a bloody face and a headache.


	18. Chapter 18: In Pursuit Of Love

**A/N #1: Marc's going to start keeping (or I'm starting to let it be known that he has) a journal. It'll be in bold and italics.**

**A/N #2: You guys remember Marc's sisters Emmanuelle and Sarah, right? Good, 'cause they're in this chapter.**

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The next day, Sarah pulled up to Wellington Estate in a cab, stepped out fully dressed in black, paid the cabdriver, and then started making her way up to the front porch. Then she knocked on the door.

Emmanuelle, who was also dressed in black, opened the door. The two embraced and started sobbing.

When they broke apart, Sarah wiped her eyes and asked softly, "Where's Mother? I want to see her."

"This way," Emmanuelle whispered, starting to walk towards a room in the back of the house, pushing her way through mourners who had come to pay their respects to Mrs. Wellington. Sarah followed her.

They soon came to the room where Mrs. Wellington was lying on a bed, holding a bouquet of red roses in her hands and wearing a black silk dress.

"Doesn't she look natural," Sarah whispered, bending over and kissing her dead mother's cold cheek. "Oh, poor Mother."

She then straightened herself and looked around. "Where's Marcus? I didn't see him when I came here."

Emmanuelle's face went from grieving to enraged in a split second. "He's upstairs in his old room, packing," she said in a rather biting tone.

"Where is he going?"

"Why don't you go ask him yourself?"

"I will," Sarah replied, turning on her heel and making her way upstairs and down the hallway to Marc's old bedroom.

She found Marc there, folding clothes neatly and placing them in suitcases. He was humming an array of songs that she didn't recognize to himself.

After a moment, he happened to look up, and he saw one of his older sisters.

"Hello, Sarah," he said in a rather sad tone, going to where she stood and embracing her.

When they broke apart, Sarah demanded, "Where are you going so soon? Mother just died five days ago. What place could possibly be so important that you have to leave before our mother's funeral pyre?"

He sighed as he resumed his packing. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

"Yes, I would."

"Fine." He stopped packing momentarily and looked up at her. "I'm going to Paris."

She raised her eyebrows. "Paris?"

"Paris first, then maybe some other places, if that's necessary."

"Why are you going to Paris - and maybe other places?"

He gazed at her seriously and intently. "I'm going after Christine."

Her eyes widened in shock. She was obviously scandalized. "You're going after our mother's murderer?" she gasped, putting a hand to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Marcus, whatever for? Our mother is the most important thing right now! Why on earth are you going after that monster?"

"Because _'that monster'_ is the woman I love," he spat. "I'm not going to let her get away from me, and if I stay here for even three days longer, she'll be long gone, most likely."

"Well, good riddance, then!"

His eyes narrowed into slits. "You know, Mother was beating me. That's why Christine started fighting her and eventually killed her. I don't believe at all that what she did was intentional. Why do you think she ran?"

"Because murderers flee from the scene, Marcus," she snapped. "You should know that." She let out a huffy sigh and crossed her arms. "I can't believe that you knew who she was and didn't turn her in to the authorities!"

"Yes, well, you'd better believe it, because it's real. What I didn't do is real. What Mother did to me is real. What Christine did to Mother is real." He paused, leaning in closer to her. "But I don't care about any of those real things any more. The only real thing I care about is what I feel for Christine." He closed his suitcases and put on a jacket and hat. "And you know what else is real, Sarah? Me leaving."

Then, without another word, he grabbed his suitcases, walked out of the bedroom, went down the stairs, and then went out the front door and called for a cab.

When the cab pulled up, he got inside the cab, closing the door behind him, and said to the cabdriver, "To the London Train Station, please."

_**Christine! Christine Vasille! How quickly it's happening!**_

_**How quickly my love for her grows; how quickly I don't care for anyone else in the world but her - no, not even my mother; how quickly her very existence is becoming my consuming obsession. Visions of dark - haired angels with captivating grey - green eyes and white half - masks on the right side of their faces are now beginning to fill my feverish dreams in the time that I do sleep.**_

_**Driven by the power of love, I will make the tiresome trips, no matter how long and how many they may be, to find her and be with her for the rest of our lives.**_

_**I just hope that I'm not too late; I pray that she hasn't done something terrible that could ruin the entire purpose of this trip and put it to waste. It can't be too late...**_

_**Christine Vasille, you have been warned - Marcus Wellington is on the hunt for you, and he always finds what he wants when he wants! I love you, and I'll find you!**_


	19. Chapter 19: Save Me From My Solitude

A few days later, Christine rested her head against the wall with her eyes closed, trying to think of another suicide attempt.

The other suicide attempts that she'd been doing had been unsuccessful. The morphine, when she'd tried to overdose, had just made her incredibly tired. The drowning just made her get soaked. The starvation just made her hungry. Nothing was working.

She heard the gate open and didn't bother opening her eyes. It was most likely a mob member, coming to see if she was there. What luck - they'd kill her and put her out of her misery!

"I'm right here!" she shouted, her eyes still closed. "Come get me! You'll be doing me a favor!"

She heard the sound of footsteps and then felt something cold on her shoulder as she was being shaken gently. "Christine," a male voice with a British accent said. "Christine, open your eyes!"

She opened her eyes and came face - to - face with Marc, who was soaked and had suitcases sitting behind him.

"Marc," she murmured. "Come to kill me, have you? In that case, I thank you!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Why would I kill you?"

"I killed your mother. Have you forgotten in the mere ten days since?"

"God rest her soul," he murmured, crossing himself. "But you saved me from a far worse beating than I got."

"That doesn't justify murder," she argued, sighing a little. "Don't be stupid."

He ignored her. "My, what a mess you are!" he chuckled. "Come, let's get you cleaned up." He placed a hand on her elbow to help her stand.

"_Damn_ your stubbornness!" she shouted, pulling away from his touch. "Leave me alone!" She closed her eyes, leaned her head against the wall, and whispered, "Leave me alone to _die_..."

He sat in front of her for a moment, surprised. She'd never cursed - or shouted - at him before. He had to save her from the spiral downwards, or else she'd be lost forever.

"Christine," he said softly, "please... let me help you. You can't die."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because there are people here on Earth who love you and care about you."

"Right," she scoffed. "The only person who ever loved me - my father - is dead."

"_I'm_ still here, Christine!" he shouted suddenly, rising and turning away from her for a moment.

She opened her eyes and glanced up at him, a stunned expression on her face.

"I'm still here," he cried out, staring out at the lake for a moment, "and I love you."

After a moment of silence, he turned back to her and held out his hand. "Christine, please take me hand," he said in a softer tone. "I won't hurt you. You trust me, don't you?"

Too tired to argue with him any more, she sighed resignedly and took his hand. With his help, she stood up.

"Come," he said, guiding her to the dining table. "Let's get you cleaned up."

He sat her in a chair, then went to go get a basin of warm water and a washcloth. When he returned, he began to wash her bloodstained face, her mask still on.

There was silence for a few moments. Then she suddenly said quietly, "I don't think you know what love is, Marc."

"What makes you think that?" he asked, continuing to wash her face.

"Because the way you're acting doesn't show that you do."

"Hmm," he murmured, nodding. "And what is love, Christine? Tell me."

"Love is wanting only what's best for the other person." She paused. "You see, I love you, because I only want what's best for you, and believe me when I say that I know what's best for you."

"What's best for me, then?"

"To stay as far away from me as possible."

He laughed, although he knew that she was being serious. "Oh? And why is that?"

"I'm dangerous," she sighed. "There's so much darkness inside of me that I scare _myself _sometimes. When I killed your mother, for instance. This whole other side of me took over. That's normally what happens when I kill people. I get angry with them, for the most part, and my anger boils over to the point where I'm no longer in control of it."

"I see," he said, nodding. "So am I supposed to know what's best for you if I love you?"

"Well, it depends on what you think is best for me."

He smiled. "What's best for you is to be with me. I don't care about who you've been or what lies underneath the mask. I'd protect you from anyone who tried to harm you. _That's_ love."

"That's the storybook version of love. But love, real love, is doing what's best for the other person, even if it's something that means taking yourself out of the picture, like what's best for you."

"If you say so," he replied, knowing that it would be useless to argue with her, since she had her mind set on what she was saying.

They subsided into silence for some time as he continued cleaning her face, since her face was very dirty, until she spoke again. "I had a dream last night. My father was alive, and he was with me. We talked, and he told me many things."

He put the washcloth in the basin, then gently cupped her chin and lifted her face up to his.

"Did your father tell you that I love you, Christine?"

"How can you love me?" she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "I'm a murderer. I'm suicidal. I hate the entire world. You might as well be in love with someone who lives in an insane asylum!"

"You want to know how I can love you?"

"Yes."

"You want to know why I love you?"

"Yes."

"You want me to show you a reason why I love you?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Then he lifted his hand up to her mask to remove it.

She grabbed his wrist. "_No_, Marc."

"Christine," he pleaded, "please, let me see."

She became very angry. She pulled off her mask and threw it to some unseen corner somewhere in the kitchen.

"You want to see?" she shouted. "Then _look_! Feast your eyes on my hideous face! Look! _Look at me!_"

He was quiet for a moment. "I am, Christine," he told her. "And do you know what I see?"

"A monster," she whispered, "a monster."

"No." He paused. "I see the most talented, most _beautiful_ young woman I've ever laid eyes on."

He thought she was beautiful! Her eyes filled with tears, and she bowed her head and started to cry.

"Don't cry," he whispered, wiping away her tears. Then, when her sobs had subsided, he kissed her cheek - the deformed one - right in the center.

He pulled away and gazed at her intently, tenderly stroking her cheek. "I love you, Christine Vasille," he whispered.

She looked at him momentarily, then replied, "I love you, too, Marc Wellington."

He smiled, then pulled her face closer to his. It was then that they shared their first kiss.

At that moment, the rule that Erik had told Christine eight years before - the rule about a kiss ending a relationship for a member of the Vasille family - was broken.

The kiss didn't end Marc and Christine's relationship - it began it.


	20. Chapter 20: New York

**A/N #1: Sorry it's been a while since I updated! School has been preventing me from doing one of the things I love doing most... writing!**

**A/N #2: This chapter and the next chapter won't be so full of detail, most likely... I'm just trying to update A.S.A.P..**

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"You know, we should get out of here," Marc declared a week later as he and Christine sat in the lair a week later, drinking Russian tea with lemon together. "I know this is your home, but it's really not safe right now."

"Well, then," Christine sighed, "where should we go, since you insist on leaving?"

"I don't know," he admitted, shrugging. "But the world is huge... you and I should travel together, just the two of us... it would be wonderful. What do you think?"

She smiled and shrugged, looking down at her teacup in her hands. "I don't know. Where would we go? Do you have anywhere in mind?"

He smiled. "Ever been to New York?"

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Three days later, in the beginning of July, Christine and Marc sat in the bottom deck of the ship, surrounded by the luggage of everyone who was on board the ship from Calais to New York, since they'd had to stow away.

Christine sighed impatiently and looked out a tiny window nearby at the sea. "Are we there yet?"

"We get there when we get there, dear," Marc said patiently, repeating himself for the sixtieth since they'd gotten on the boat. She'd asked him twenty times a day, so she was done for the day.

"When will we be there?"

He laughed. "You don't give up, do you? We should be there tomorrow."

She looked excited. "What's it like in New York? Have you been there?"

"Yes, I have. I've been there once before, fourteen years ago. My father took me when I was seven." He paused and sighed rather sadly. "That was the last place he took me before he died. That's why New York is so special to me."

"I see," she said, nodding solemnly. "Where else did your father take you?"

"Oh, countless places... all over the world. So now _I'm_ taking _you_ to two of the best places. You haven't traveled the world, have you?"

"The farthest I've ever been away from Paris was London."

He smiled, moved closer to where she was sitting, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Well, not any more, my darling... not any more. We're in American waters now."

Her face seemed to light up. "Truly?" She peered out the window enthusiastically. "We're close?"

"Yes, dear."

She smiled. "I'm so excited! I'm so excited... I'm travling the world... with you."

He smiled back at her and kissed the tip of her nose. "I'm excited, too. This is the beginning of something wonderful for the two of us."

She smiled, sighed contentedly, and rested her head on his shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

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"Oh, that took forever!" Christine moaned as she and Marc finally snuck off of the ship and onto the dock, their luggage in their hands. "I do wish that stowaways could go first off of the ship."

Marc threw his head back and laughed. "Well, if the stowaways went first, then they'd get caught. You don't want to get caught, do you?"

"No."

"Well," he continued, switching one of his suitcases to his other hand as she did the same and taking her free hand with his free hand, "then we have to wait. Come on - let's find a hotel for us to stay at."

After walking for a short distance, Christine looking around in fascination as they walked, they came to a hotel called The American Dreams Hotel.

"American Dreams," she scoffed as she looked at it. "This hotel can't fit seven people! If the American dream is to have a hotel that only has a maximum occupancy of about seven, then we'd better go to your next planned destination!"

He laughed. "I don't believe that that is the American dream. Let's go check in."

When they walked up to the woman at the check - in desk, the woman looked up and raised her eyebrows upon seeing Christine's mask. This caused Christine's face to flush, and she looked away from the woman.

Marc saw this and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "They don't judge here in America," he said softly in her ear. "You just surprised her. Don't worry."

"Checking in?" the woman asked.

He looked at the woman and nodded and smiled. "Yes, please."

"All right," the woman replied, taking a key off of the wall and handing it to him. "It's down the hall and to your left."

Marc and Christine both blushed slightly. "Um... could we have two rooms, please?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," the woman replied, taking another key off of the wall and handing it to Christine. "I just assumed that you two were married."

"Not quite," he replied as Christine took the key from the woman. "Are they next to each other?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you," he replied, turning and walking down the hall with Christine.

"_Garce_," Christine muttered under her breath after a moment.

Marc heard her and understood what she said. "Why, Christine!" he exclaimed. "How unkind of you. It's not wrong of her to assume that we're married. Don't call her that."

She changed the subject and asked, "Are we goung somewhere to do some sightseeing?" as she unlocked the door to her room.

"Yes. Where would you like to go first?" he asked as he unlocked the door to his room.

"We'll discuss it when we're settled in," she replied, then went inside her room and closed the door behind her.

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"How long are we staying here?" Christine asked a few minutes later as she and Marc walked down the street hand - in - hand after they'd unpacked and settled in their separate rooms.

"Two nights," Marc replied. "Why? Are you so eager to leave here so soon?"

"Not necessarily. I was just wondering."

He knew she was lying. "What's wrong?" he asked, stopping walking and turning her face to face his.

She gazed at him intently for a moment. "They stare," she finally whispered.

"Oh," he sighed, taking her hand and starting to walk again. "Well, don't be so self - conscious about it. They've probably never seen someone in a mask here before."

"What if they know who I am?" she muttered fretfully.

"Oh, they don't. I'd be most astonished if anyone around here knows about the news from Europe. Don't worry about it, okay?"

"All right."

He smiled and kissed her cheek. "Good. Now how about we go see the Statue of Liberty?"

She smiled at him. "I'd like that very much."

_Wow!_

_That's the only thing I can manage to say after seeing all the sights in New York City that I've seen today and the previous day ... wow!_

_This place is amazing... apparently, everyone has equal opportunities here in America. They'll give you anything and everything within reason - jobs, money, and much more - regardless of race, skin color, or whether you wear a mask or not... or so the rumor is... or so Marc says._

_But I don't want to be here much longer, because they stare. Well, they'll stare anywhere I go, but I still don't like it._

_Marc doesn't stare, though... that's something I love about him._


	21. Chapter 21: Rouen

**A/N: Again, I apologize for the short chapter. I'm just so happy to be writing again. The next chapter and following chapters will be longer, I promise.**

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"Where are we going?" Christine asked five days after they got to New York as she and Marc sat on anonther ship, stowing away to a destination that was unknown to her.

"That's for me to know and you to not know," Marc replied slyly, grinning mischieviously.

"Oh, _Marc_!" she exclaimed. She was getting tired of hearing that answer. "Why don't you tell me?"

"So you'll be ever so surprised when we arrive there. You'll say to me, 'Oh, Marc, what a wonderful courter you are to take me to this place!' That's why."

"I'd say that anyway."

He smiled. "I know. So I'll get to hear it twice."

She shook her head. "Not likely. So just tell me where we're going, and then I'll be excited all the same."

"Well, all right. We're going to Rouen."

She let out an exclamation. "Rouen? Oh, Marc, what a wonderful courter you are to take me to Rouen!"

He laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Well, thank you."

_How good it is to be in Rouen! How good it is to hear French spoken everywhere again!_

_Rouen is the most wonderful city in France besides Paris. It's romantic in its own way... I love it._


	22. Chapter 22: A Place To Stay

"Home, sweet home," Christine sighed happily as she rowed the gondola onto the shore of the lake back in her lair in Paris, Marc sitting down in the gondola, a few days later.

"Yes... your home," Marc replied, sighing discontentedly.

She heard him sigh. "What's the matter, _mon amour_?" she asked, taking her suitcases in her hands and stepping onto the shore of the lake.

"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head as he rose and picked up his suitcases. "What would you like to do for dinner tonight, dear? Do you want me to cook?"

"Well, we could both cook, you know," she replied, looking at him curiously as he stepped off of the gondola and onto the shore of the lake. "What do you want to eat?"

"Food."

She laughed a little. "Thank you for being so specific." She paused. "Seriously, we could cook anything and everything you wish to eat. I cook everything you can think of... chicken drumsticks, Italian food... I could learn to cook some American food."

"I don't care," he sighed, smiling at her a little. "Where should I sleep, or do you have only one bed?"

She turned away from him and pointed to a nearby closed door. "That's where you can sleep. It's got a bed, a dresser, a mirror, and a few other things that you might need."

"Cameron's old room, I presume?" he inquired as she turned back to him.

Her face flushed as she nodded. "Yes... but don't think of it that way. I don't. Just think of it as your room." She paused. "Anyway, what would you like to eat for dinner? I'll honestly cook anything you want."

"How about chicken drumsticks?"

She nodded and smiled at him. "Sure. That sounds fine. You go ahead and pack, and I'll start cooking. Then, when you're settled in, you can come help me. All right?"

"All right," he muttered distractedly, turning and walking towards his room go unpack and settle in.

She looked after him as he closed the door behind him, then sighed and made her way to the kitchen, setting her suitcases down by the dining table as she did.

After a few minutes, as she was starting to cook the chicken, she saw him come out of his room and make his way into the kitchen. She could see his waves of disapproval radiating all around as he looked around, walking.

"What's the matter?" she asked quietly, walking over to him as he entered the kitchen and kissing him.

"Oh... nothing," he murmured absently, stroking her jet - black hair and wrapping his other arm around her waist as he looked around the kitchen, disapproval in his eyes.

She glanced around the kitchen anxiously. "Does something about it displease you?"

"No."

She felt herself growing impatient. "Well, then what's the matter? You say 'nothing', but your eyes say something else. Do you not like the way it's arranged? I could change it."

He sighed and looked down at her. "It's not the kitchen, Christine... it's the entire place in general."

"What's wrong with it? Is it too messy? Too clean? Too dark? What?"

"It's your home; that's what the problem is." His tone changed from disapproving to appealing. "Darling, don't you understand that you're a fugitive? People will constantly be coming down here to look for you, and they'll find you if we stay here. I don't want that. Therefore, I don't want us to stay here."

"Well, then where would you like us to stay?" she cried out impatiently, stepping back out of his hold. "In a hotel? I'll surely be caught then! This is the safest place in all of France for us to be right now. We probably took a great risk going to Rouen!"

"Oh, Christine, please don't -"

"This is my home," she cried out, and he could see tears starting to fill her eyes, "and I'll be damned if I get caught anywhere else but the place I know best!"

He looked at her hopelessly as she covered her face with her hands and started crying. He felt bad, but his remorse was little compared to his overwhelming desire to protect her from the danger of being caught.

After watching her sob for a few moments, he stepped to where she stood and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I just don't want you getting hurt, darling," he said gently, kissing the top of her head. "Don't you understand that? Please understand that."

Her hands slid down from her face as she looked up at him. "I understand," she murmured shakily, "but I just - I just want to be here right now, with you. I've been outside, in your world, for so long..."

"I know. But outside has been the safest place for you so far. Why do you think I had us stay in London for as long as I did?"

She sighed as she wiped her eyes. "I've seen your world; you've shown me your world..." She took his face in her hands and finished, "let me show you _my_ world."

He gazed at her intently for a moment. "Oh, all right," he finally said. "Since you're so insistent, we'll stay here for as long as you like."

Her eyes widened. "Truly?"

"Truly."

She smiled. "Thank you, Marc," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist and embracing him. "You have no idea how much this place means to me... we won't be here long, I promise; two weeks at most."

"And then where?" he inquired dreamily, resting his chin on top of her head and savoring their embrace.

"London."

He nodded and kissed the top of her head, and then they broke apart. "All right, then. But we don't have to be here for less than two weeks, if you want to stay here longer. You're right... show me your world, all right? I want to see your world."

She smiled up at him. "All right. Now let's make dinner, shall we?"

"Yes, let's." He kissed her gently. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yes," she sighed dreamily, gazing at him adoringly. "And I love you, too."

"Good." He kissed her again. "Now let's make some chicken drumsticks." Then he kissed her again.

"Well, you have to quit kissing me and let me go if we want to make chicken and eat," she said softly in a teasing tone. Then she kissed him and released herself from his hold.

He gazed at her lovingly for a moment, then started helping her cook dinner.


	23. Chapter 23: Fun At The Opera

_It's so good to be home... and it's good to be here with Marc. God, how I love him so. He's sweet and adoring. If I were God, he would worship me. But I do believe that he worships me - but he knows that I'm not God._

_It's so strange to be around him at the same time, though. He spoils me like nothing. It's as though I'm the little sultana of Persia who gets her every wish, her every whim._

_I'm not used to it... my father rarely indulged me when I was growing up with him around. With my father, 'special treatment' was getting to stay up five minutes later than my assigned bedtime._

_But with Marc, 'special treatment' is getting to do what I please all the day long. He'll let me wander around the Opera, he'll let me lounge around the lair, he'll let me sing for him of my own accord... anything and everything I want to do all day long. He'll even let me sleep for as long as I want!_

_This is wonderful, being with Marc in familiar surroundings like this._

About two days later, Christine and Marc were lurking around the Opera, and she was showing him all the good haunting spots that she'd used to use back when the Opera was occupied.

"Of course, it's kind of hard to be in the upper levels sometimes now," she said as they slowly started walking on the charred flies. "All burned up and nearly broken up... it's hard to walk around, since it might be dangerous and people will fall through."

"That's true," he replied, looking down at the floor to make sure that if anything was messed up, he wouldn't step on it. "We've just got to be careful, right?"

"Yes. Watch out for this area right there," she said, pointing at a spot just ahead of where she was walking. Then, when they came to it, they stepped around it, and they started walking normally again.

"When we get done with this, what would you like to do, dear?" he asked. "Do you want to eat, do you want to sing, do you want to play and sing for me? Whatever you want, remember that."

She smiled. "Well, how about we have some lunch and rest for a while? I'm tired. I don't know if you are, but I am."

"Well, all right. We'll eat and sleep."

They kept walking until they got to the steps. Then she suddenly stopped short and held her hand up. She put her finger to her lips with her other hand.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

"Shhh!" she hissed, waving her hand around. "Don't speak... I think I heard something."

They both remained silent for a moment. Then he finally whispered, "What is it that you hear, Christine? Do you hear someone walking around? Is someone here?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Well, who do you hear? Do you know? Do you hear a mob member? Who do you hear?"

"I hear..." - she paused, then suddenly turned, made claws with her hands, and let out a yell - "_The Phantom of the Opera!_"

He let out a yelp of surprise, looking terrified for a moment. "Oh, _Christine_!" he exclaimed after a moment, placing a hand on his heart and letting out a sigh as she burst into laughter. "How unkind of you to do such a thing to me. You really had me frightened that we'd be caught and you'd be captured!"

She laughed and advanced on him, her hands still set as claws, and she bent over slightly, like some sort of monster, as he held up his hands in a sign of surrender and made a mock - terrified expression. Then she said in a low and menacing voice, "I hear her coming... she's advancing on the man she loves!"

They laughed as she jumped in front of him and growled.

"Well, my beautiful _mademoiselle le fantome_," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him, "I think we should go down to your lair and haunt me some more."

She smiled and kissed him. "Yes, let's go haunt some more."

Then he took her hand, and they started making their way back down to her lair.


	24. Chapter 24: A Little Night Music

**A/N: Okay, this chapter may come as a surprise to some of you readers... but I've been planning on this part of the story for a long time. And don't think that this story is anywhere near its end because of this chapter's content.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the song _Come What May _from _Moulin Rouge!_. If you'll remember, Christine wrote it for her opera, _Genius's Mistake_.**

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Two weeks later, Christine and Marc were simply spending time together in her lair, enjoying one another's company.

After gazing at Christine for a moment, Marc said, "I'm hungry. Could we eat?"

She nodded. "Sure. I'm feeling a bit hungry for dinner, anyway." She rose and made her way to the kitchen. He followed her.

"What do you want to eat?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist as she opened one of the cabinets and started looking for something to cook.

She turned her head and kissed his cheek. "I don't know. What do you want?"

"Hmm... how about we have some souffles?"

"_Souffles?_"

He nodded. "Yes. I like vegetable souffles."

"Do you?" she asked. "I do, too. Do you want me to make two of them?"

"Certainly. I'll make mine."

"All right."

They then started gathering ingredients together for their souffles, but they found it rather difficult, since Marc had chosen to try and get the exact same ingredients at the same time she was. Therefore, they were fighting over who would get them first.

"It's _mine_!" she screeched, trying to pry some jarred vegetables out of his hands. "Let... go!"

He laughed and simply tightened his grip on the jars. "Try and make me, _mademoiselle le fantome_!"

She let out a mock sob. "Why are you so mean?"

"I? _Mean?_ Perish the thought! _You're_ mean! I'm just trying to get the ingredients for my souffle!"

"At the exact same time I am! You're doing it on purpose!"

"Oh, really?" he scoffed. "What makes you think that? Would I do something so cruel to you?"

"Yes, I think you would!" She pulled on the jars even more. "Now let go!"

After a moment, they started pulling on the jars so much in thier own direction that the jars slipped out of their hands and onto the floors. The glass broke, and the vegetables started scattering around the floor.

They both stared down at the vegetables and broken glass on the floor for a moment before they looked up at each other.

He chuckled and shrugged. "Oops."

"You're damn right, 'Oops'!" she snapped, stomping her foot and clenching her hands into fists at her side. "Why did you do that?"

"I was just having fun!"

After staring at him stonily for a moment, her anger melted away, and she giggled like a little schoolgirl, ran over to him, and smacked him playfully on the arm. Then they laughed, embraced, and kissed.

"Well, what are we going to eat?" he asked, laughing a little. "We have no vegetables now. What should we eat?"

"Let's have some Italian food."

So they started cooking spaghetti - which they didn't have any problem doing; they didn't fight over ingredients - and eventually starting eating dinner.

When they were finished eating, they started washing the dishes, laughing, spraying water on each other, and kissing the entire time.

"Will you sing for me?" he asked as they sat down in the main part of the lair, she on the piano bench and he on the sofa, and started drinking Russian tea with lemon.

"Well... what would you like for me to sing?" she asked, turning to him and gazing at him, resting her chin on her hands. "Something of my own? Something that my father wrote? Something -"

"Something of your own."

She nodded. "All right. What of my own do you want me to play?"

"Um... I don't know." He rose and walked over to the piano, looking on the top of it. Then he started shuffling through the sheet music that had been written on. After a moment, he picked up a piece of paper and scanned it. "What about this one?"

She took it from him and glanced at the title. He saw her stiffen. "No," she said after a moment, handing it back to him. "In fact, I'd like it very much if you get rid of it."

He took it back from her, looking surprised. "Why? I don't think you've ever said something like that about any of your compositions." He looked at it for a moment. "_Come What May_... looks promising."

"Yes, well, don't be deceived," she said, a slight hint of coldness starting to creep into her voice. "I don't like that song any more."

"Why? It's one of your own."

"Because..." She hesitated.

He cupped her chin and turned her face to his. "Because why?"

She gazed at him for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Because... the last time I sang that song, it didn't end well."

After a moment, he understood. "It's from _Genius's Mistake_." He pointed at the paper. "This is the love duet that you and Cameron sang before everything turned disastrous."

"Yes," she whispered. Then she turned away from him and stared down at the keys on the piano for a moment.

After a moment, he reached over to her and stroked her hair, tilting her face upwards to his. Then he said softly, "Christine, that's all behind you. You don't have to be afraid of any of that." He paused. "Please sing it for me?"

She gazed at him for a moment before nodding and sighing resignedly. "Oh, all right."

Then she turned to the piano and started playing the intro to _Come What May_. After a moment, she started singing.

_Never knew  
_

_I could feel like this -_

_Like I've never seen the sky_

_Before_

_Want to vanish_

_Inside your kiss..._

_Every day I love you more_

_And more..._

_Listen to my heart -_

_Can you hear? It sings,_

_Tellin' me to give you everything..._

_Seasons may change,_

_Winter to spring..._

_But I love you_

_Until the end of time..._

_Come what may..._

_Come what may..._

_I will love you_

_Until my dying day..._

_Suddenly the world_

_Seems such a perfect place..._

_Suddenly it moves_

_With such a perfect place..._

_Suddenly my life doesn't seem_

_Such a waste..._

_It all revolves around you..._

She looked up at him and smiled as she continued singing. He sat down on the piano bench next to her, gazing at her intently.

_And there's no mountain too high,_

_No river too wide..._

_Sing out this song_

_And I'll be there by your side..._

_Storm clouds may gather,_

_And stars may collide..._

_But I love you_

_Until the end_

_Of time..._

_Come what may..._

_Come what may..._

_I will love you_

_Until my dying day_

_Oh, come what may..._

_Come what may..._

_I will love you..._

_Oh, I will love you..._

_Suddenly the world_

_Seems such a perfect place..._

_Come what may..._

_Come what may..._

_I will love you_

_Until my dying day..._

When she finished, he appluaded and smiled. "Wonderful, darling." He wrapped an arm around her waist. "It was beautiful... but not as beautiful as you."

She felt her face flush as she looked down. "Don't," she mumbled. "I'm not beautiful."

"You are," he insisted, kissing her cheek. "You're beautiful. I love you, Christine; you know that, don't you?"

"Yes... but that doesn't mean I'm beautiful."

He sighed. "Christine, what do I have to do to convince you? You're beautiful. Why can't you accept that?"

"Because it's not true!" she exclaimed, turning to him. "I'm not beautiful."

After gazing at her for a moment, a slow smile came to his face. "I think I know how I can persuade you." He kissed her. "Yes... I rather think I know how to convince you that you're beautiful; I'll make you feel beautiful if it kills me..." Then he started kissing her again.

As they kissed, he grabbed her arm and had the two of them stand up. Then he wrapped his arms around her waist and continued kissing her. She linked her hands behind his neck.

After they had kissed for several minutes without stopping, he stuck his tongue out and had it touch her bottom lip.

She jolted and pulled away. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed.

"It's called a French kiss. I thought you'd know that, being French."

"No. I know next to nothing about kissing, and what I do know comes from kissing you."

"Well, I want to keep doing it..." He started kissing her again.

Then, when he stuck his tongue out and had it touch her bottom lip again, she didn't protest. Instead, she followed suit and touched her tongue to his bottom lip.

After a few seconds, he deepened the kiss, his tongue now demanding entrance past the wall of her lips. She jolted for a second, but didn't say anything, and, after a moment, opened her mouth slightly.

When he started exploring her mouth with his tongue, she moaned softly and did the same to him. She was enjoying this thoroughly.

This continued for a moment. Then, aware that his plan was starting to go into motion, started pushing her away from the piano and towards her swan bedroom, still kissing her.

Even though her eyes were closed, she was aware of where he was headed and pulled away. "What are you doing now?" she demanded, sounding rather alarmed.

"I'm going to convince you that you're beautiful," he replied, kissing her on the lips and then on the neck. "This seems to be the only way to possibly convince you. I've tried everything but this."

Her facial expression was a mix of uncertainty and consent. As he continued kissing her, on the lips, on the neck, and now on the collarbone, she closed her eyes for a moment and sighed softly, getting lost in what he was doing to her.

Then she seemed to come to her senses and stopped him. "But... we haven't even been together a month yet. Isn't it a little soon? I mean, we're not even married, and -"

"Shh," he murmured, placing a finger on her lips and stopping her. "I know we've only been together a month, and maybe not even that, but I knew a second after I realized I loved you that you're the one for me." Then he started kissing her again, his lips traveling on the unmasked part of her face, her lips, her collarbone.

As he started pushing her towards her swan bedroom again, she didn't say anything. She simply let him do what he wanted.

When they were steps away from the bed, he reached to the back of her dress and started unbuttoning it. She reached for his shirt and started unbuttoning it.

When he had her dress off of her and she had his shirt off of him, leaving her in her underskirt and corset and him in his trousers, he started kissing her bare shoulders.

She fingered his bare chest. "You're muscular," she murmured.

He shrugged as he stopped kissing her for a moment. "I suppose." Then he reached back and started unlacing her corset, kissing her.

Then, when he was about to take her corset off of her, he reached up to her face and started to pull her mask off.

She grabbed his wrist. "No," she breathed. "I don't want you to see me... like that... not now..."

He kissed her lips. "I want _all_ of you, Christine."

Then, without waiting for a reply, he grabbed her mask and pulled it off, tossing it away. It landed with a plunk into the lake.

With the mask gone, he pulled off her corset, and she unbuttoned and pulled off his trousers.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her onto the bed gently. Then he climbed into bed and started kissing her, kissing her lips, her deformity, her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, her stomach.

Then, as he got on top of her, he reached his hands down to her underskirt.


	25. Chapter 25: 'London Can Wait'

Marc stirred and yawned sleepily, then slowly opened his eyes and looked around.

As is normal for someone who has just woken up, he was unsure for a moment where he was. Then he remembered - he was in the lair, in his bed...

Wait a moment - this wasn't his bed. This was Christine's swan bed. And there was something warm lying next to him, and something warm and rather hairy resting on his chest.

Then everything came back to him.

Passionate kisses... intimate touches... Christine's soft, untouched skin against his own... his body heat combined with hers... her cries of pain, echoing through the empty lair... and then, finally, a gradual relaxation and a catch of breath... silence except for the whispers of two people finally joined as one... a happiness he'd never known before...

He glanced down at the young woman asleep next to him, hardly daring to believe that she was real, and that she was now his.

After gazing at Christine for a moment, he kissed the top of her dark head. "I love you," he whispered as softly as possible, not wanting to wake her. Then he stared up at the ceiling of the lair, reflecting upon the recent past.

His thoughts were interrupted by feeling something move next to him and a soft moan.

And then, the most beautiful voice in all the world, calling his name. "Marc..."

He looked back down. There was Christine, gazing up at him with her grey - green eyes that he loved so much, looking somewhat tired and, at the same time, happy.

Smiling, he bent down and kissed her. "Good morning," he whispered.

"Good morning..." She seemed to look rather incredulous that he was there with her. "Last night..."

"Yes?"

She looked hesitant to ask. "Did we...?"

He nodded. "Yes, we did."

She looked even more doubtful. "I don't believe it... it doesn't seem possible... I don't know how to believe that it was all real..."

Smiling, he replied, "I know how to prove that to you." He rolled over in such a way that he was now on top of her. "Do you believe now?" he asked.

She winced, and then he saw her blush slightly. "_Oh_... yes... I believe now..."

He smiled and kissed her. "Good."

Looking nervous, she bit her lip. "Um... the pain..."

"It's natural, so I've heard. Don't worry, I feel it, too."

He felt her relax underneath him. "So it was your first time, too?"

"Yes," he replied, laughing a little in spite of the fact that he knew she was serious. "You have all of me, Christine. Don't worry."

She smiled softly. "Good. Now... could you please get off of me? You're hurting me now..."

"Oh, sorry," he said apologetically, rolling off of her and wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

She sighed contentedly and rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes.

Hearing her sigh in the way that she did made him indescribably happy. To know that she was happy and that he was the cause of it made him overjoyed.

After they lay this way for a while, she let go of him, and he let go of her. She then sat up and sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I'm tired..."

He gazed at her for a moment, smiling at how beautiful she was. Then he sat up and kissed her, his lips brushing against her bare shoulder and back. "I love you."

She smiled and closed her eyes, feeling as though she was in some sort of wonderful dream. "I love you, too," she whispered. Then she started to get out of bed, looking around for something to cover herself with as she did.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. "What are you doing?"

She turned to him, looking surprised. "I'm getting dressed and packing."

"Packing? To go where?"

"London. I told you when we first got here that when we'd been here two weeks, we'd leave and go back to London. It's been two weeks. We need to go."

After gazing at her for a moment, he smiled, placed his hands on her arms, and lay back in bed, pulling her down with him and having her be on top of him after a moment. Then he kissed her. "London can wait."

_I'm not sure what to write._

_How could I possibly describe in words, even with a vocabulary like mine, how I feel? 'Amazing' doesn't describe the events of last night._

_I suppose I could describe what I feel, but I'm not sure that 'loved' and 'wanted' would quite do it justice._

_It's just... to think that a mere month ago, and maybe a little bit more than that, I felt as though no one would ever love me on any level.. it seems so strange now with what's happened._

_Now I've no doubts of Marc's feelings for me; he's proven his love for me with the emotional as well as the physical aspects of it. I feel like a fool for ever doubting him._

_And you know what? Marc accomplished his goal last night. He made me feel beautiful. _


	26. Chapter 26: Back To London

A week later, Christine woke up early. Then, as she sat up, she turned and looked at the sleeping Marc for a moment.

After a moment, she smiled at him, leaned over his sleeping form, and kissed his shoulder. Then she got up and started getting dressed.

When she was dressed, she stumbled into the kitchen and started cooking a breakfast of eggs, toast, and Russian tea with lemon. But her thoughts were far away from breakfast.

The past week with Marc had been the best week she'd ever known in her life. He'd taught her that even people who were the most horrible and undeserving people could be loved. She thought that she was undeserving, so it was good that he taught her that.

When she had cooked breakfast, she went over to her swan bedroom to wake Marc up. She hated to wake him up, since he looked peaceful when he slept, but she had to wake him up so that they could eat, pack, and start their stowaway line in order to get to London. So she placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. "Marc," she whispered. "Wake up."

He stirred and stretched. Then he yawned, rubbed his eyes, and opened them. He smiled sleepily when he saw her. "Well, good morning, my love."

She smiled and kissed him. "Good morning. It's time to get up now."

He sighed and unwillingly sat up. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. We've got to eat and pack. Our train leaves at eleven o'clock. It's nine thirty."

"Oh, all right," he sighed resignedly, getting out of bed and looking around for his clothes.

After gazing at him for a moment, she walked back into the kitchen and put their breakfasts on plates.

When he was dressed, he came into the kitchen and snuck up behind her. Then he let out a yell and wrapped an arm around her waist.

She laughed and turned to him. "Why, sir!" she said, taking on a very well - imitated British accent. "Are you trying to frighten me?"

"Well, of course not, miss," he replied. "I woudn't want to frighten my love; not on purpose."

She smiled and kissed him. Then she handed him his plate of eggs and toast and a cup of Russian tea with lemon. "Your breakfast, _mon amour_."

"Thank you," he replied, rewarding her with a kiss and making his way to the dining table. Then she got her breakfast and made her way to the dining table, sitting next to him.

He took her hand and smiled.

She looked confused. "What?"

"Well, besides the fact that I want to hold your hand," he replied, gazing at her intently, "I want to pray, Christine. I want to thank God for you; I haven't done it out loud at all. I'm just so grateful for you, and for this past week with you."

After gazing at him for a moment, she said rather darkly, "I'm not going to pray."

He looked shocked. "Why, Christine! And you said that in such a horrid manner! Why not?"

"Because I don't believe in God. I thought you knew that about me."

"You don't believe in God?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You make it sound like the worst thing in the world."

"It almost is," he replied. "You're an unbeliever... you don't believe in the God who created you and me; the God that had you escape from the mob all that time ago and meet me; the God that had us fall in love with each other; the God that made this past week happen..."

"God didn't do any of that," she retorted, "because God doesn't exist. We made that happen by ourselves."

He bit his lip. "Christine... I don't believe that... that -"

"That what?" she snapped. "That you had this past week with me and didn't know that I didn't believe in God? Wouldn't you have had this week with me, even had you known? Are you saying that what I believe would have influenced this week, because you wouldn't have had us have that first night -"

He placed a finger on her lips. "Shh, darling... no, I'm not saying that. I would have had this week despite anything... I love you, Christine; don't you know that?"

She finally sighed. "Yes," she murmured. "Yes, I know... you've proven that you love me in this past week..." She looked up at him resentfully. "I'm sorry that I didn't fully trust in you until this week... I shouldn't have needed this to know that -"

"Hush. There's nothing more to say about it. I'll pray by myself; you go ahead and eat," he said reassuringly. "It's all right." He paused. "Do you mind if I pray out loud, though?"

She shrugged. "I suppose not. Go ahead."

"Thank you." He still held onto her hand, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. "Dear God, thank You for this day, and thank You for everything that you've done to make this past week happen. I thank You very much for Christine here, whom I love with all my heart. Thank You for letting me have her, even though we're not married and it was wrong in Your eyes. Please let our travels to London be safe, and please not have Christine get caught. I don't know what I'll do if she's captured. In Your name I pray, Amen."

"Amen," she murmured in spite of herself. "That was very nice, Marc."

He looked at her, smiled, and kissed her hand. "Thank you." Then they started eating.

When they were done eating, they washed the dishes and then packed their suitcases.

"Are we taking Minuit with us?" he asked as he closed his suitcase. "I imagine we can, and then you can ride him in London."

She nodded and smiled. "Sure. Yes, let's take Minuit with us."

"All right."

As she closed her suitcase, she glanced at the bed for a moment. Then she blushed slightly. "I suppose we should have washed the sheets before today," she informed him. "They're a mess."

He laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her neck. "Ah, it's all right. If we ever come back -"

"We will," she replied in such a determined tone that he didn't dare to argue with her.

"All right. When we come back, we'll wash them. They're fine until then."

"Okay."

Then they picked up their suitcases and Christine put on her cloak and covered her head with the hood, took each other's hand, and made their way through the exit that led to the stables so that they could get Minuit.

Minuit whinnied a greeting when they entered the stables.

"_Bonjour_, Minuit," Christine murmured, smiling, stepping inside his stables and untying the rope that was around his neck. "Are you ready to go to London?"

Minuit whinnied a response and tossed his head.

"I knew you were." She handed Marc her suitcases, pulled herself up, and swung her right leg over Minuit's back. Then she grabbed his mane gently and led him out of his stable. "Come on," she said to Marc. "Get on."

Marc handed her the suitcases, and then he copied what she had just done. "Do you want me to control him, so that you can hold to suitcases?" he asked.

She nodded. "Sure."

He grabbed Minuit's mane. "Yah!" he yelled, and then Minuit ran out of the stables, towards the back roads, where Marc led him.

After riding for a while, they got to the Paris Train Station and rode to the platform where passengers were boarding to Calais. As it turned out, they got there just in time - the train was starting to pull away.

"Yah!" Marc yelled, causing Minuit to speed up and eventually jump on the back of the train. Then they rode him into the baggage car, where they would hide for the duration of the trip.

"Excellent," Christine said, handing Marc, who had just gotten off of Minuit, the suitcases and dismounting. "And now we'll be here for about two days."

"And what would you like to do during those two days?" he asked, smiling slyly and placing the suitcases down on the floor as she rewarded Minuit with a treat that she'd had hidden in a pocket of her dress.

She felt her face flush as she turned to him and smiled shyly. "I don't know," she murmured, walking over to him and linking her hands behind his neck. "What would you like to do?"

"Hmm..." He pretended to look throughtful. "I was thinking of... _this_!"

Then he grabbed her around the waist, pushed her onto the floor as gently as possible, and got on top of her, kissing her and reaching into his satchel for the blanket that he'd packed.

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The next morning, Christine woke up and reached for her nearby clothing and mask.

She felt a hand grab her wrist. "And what do you think _you're_ doing?" a voice murmured in her ear.

Smiling, she turned and looked at Marc, who was smiling and gazing at her lovingly.

"I'm getting dressed," she replied, kissing him and freeing her wrist from his grip.

He grabbed her wrist again and pulled her arm down onto the floor. "I don't think that's necessary," he replied in a rather taunting tone. "You look much more attractive without clothes on."

She blushed. One week and one day and he was suddenly some sort of animal! "Well, you may think that," she replied, "but I'm getting cold here on this floor."

He rolled over and got on top of her, pinning her arms to the floor, as she started to reach for her clothes and mask again. "Then let me warm you."

She laughed. "No. I'm hungry; I'm going to try and sneak into the dining car and steal some food."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"_Oui!_"

"_Non!_"

She bit her lip, trying to think of a response. "Quit trying to use my native language against me!"

He laughed and kissed her nose. "All right, my dear. You win." He let go of her arms and rolled off of her. "Go and steal some food."

"Thank you." She reached over for her clothes and mask and dressed. Then she stood up.

"Will you get something for me, too?"

"Maybe..."

"Oh, Christine! I'm hungry, too!"

She looked down at him tauntingly. "Well, you should have thought of that before you started trying to stop me from getting food!"

He faked a pout and clasped in hands together. "Please, Christine? I love you."

She laughed. "Well, I suppose I can steal some extra food. What do you want?"

"Whatever they've got. I'm starved."

She got down on her knees, bent over, and kissed him. "All right. I'll be back soon." Then she crept out of the baggage car and made her way to the dining car.

After a moment, he sighed happliy, sat up, and started dressing.

By the time he was done, she returned with an entire plate of toast, two cups of English tea with milk, and two plates with with eggs sunny - side up and three patties of sausage each.

He laughed as she set the food down on the floor with some difficulty. "Got enough food there, love?"

"Yes." She handed him a plate of eggs and sausage and a cup of tea. "There."

"Thank you."

"Mm - hmm." Then they started eating.

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Four days later, Christine and Marc sat in the bottom deck of the ship going from Calais to Portsmouth. Christine was bored and kept looking out the window impatiently.

As she turned to him and opened her mouth to speak, he said, "No, we're not there yet. We get there when we get there."

She let out a huffy sigh, causing a wisp of her hair to get out of her face. "Fine." She sighed again. "But I'm so _bored_, Marc!" she whined. "I've nothing to do except read, and I've been reading ever since we got on the ship yesterday."

"Why don't you take care of Minuit?" he suggested.

"I did that already, too."

He smiled slyly, moved closer to her, and wrapped an arm around her waist. Then her murmured in her ear, "We're alone..."

She looked rather shocked. "Marc! On the ship?"

"You know that I brought a blanket." He glanced at a nearby car. "We could get in the car."

Her shock increased. "_Marcus!_ That's someone's car!"

"Oh, come on, Christine," he said appeasingly. "Some couple has probably done it once before."

"Well, I don't care. I'm not going to."

He let out a mock sigh. "Well, all right. I suppose you'll just have to remain bored until we get to London..."

She bit her lip and glanced from him to the car. Then, after a moment, she grabbed his arm and pulled him up with her as she stood up. "Get the blanket."

He threw his head back and laughed. "I knew you'd give in at one point."

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Some time later, as Marc and Christine lay in the back seat of the car together, Christine reached underneath the seat and picked up a book that she'd brought in the car with her. She opened the page she'd marked and started reading, pulling the blanket up more until it reached her chin.

Marc laughed softly and kissed her cheek, one of her ears, and her neck. "Bored?"

She glanced at him and smiled. "Not really... I just like reading." Then she resumed reading again.

He was silent for a moment. Then he asked, "What are you reading?"

"La Fugitive."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "That's one of the A La Recherche De Temps Perdu novels, right?"

"Mm - hmm," she murmured, too absorbed in the book to pay him much attention.

Then he didn't say anything more and started reading over her shoulder. He had to read a lot quicker than his normal pace, since she was a fast reader, but he managed to keep up with her.

After they read for a while, she marked the page she was on, closed the book, and sat up with some difficulty, since the back seat was crowded, and started to climb out of the car, wrapping the blanket around herself to cover herself up.

He laughed. "No fair!" Then he sat up, grabbed her around the waist, grabbed a section of the blanket from her, and covered himself with it, following her out of the car.

When they'd dressed, he said, "I'm hungry."

"Me, too. You go steal the food today."

"But -"

"No buts," she interrupted, sitting down on the floor, opening her book, and starting to read again. "I got the food the entire time we were on the train - and I got the food yesterday. Now it's your turn."

"Oh, all right," he sighed resignedly. He walked over to her and kissed her. "Be back in a minute."

"Mm - hmm."

He gazed at her lovingly for a moment, then snuck out, making his way to the kitchen.

A short time later, he returned with a dinner of soup, an entire loaf of bread, chicken, and two cups of English tea with milk.

When she saw that he'd placed the food down on the floor, she smiled, marked her page, closed the book, and put it down on the floor. Then she crawled over to where he'd put the food and started putting her serving on her plate that he'd brought.

After he served himself his food and had poured both of them a cup of tea, he sat down next to her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and started eating with his free hand. Then a thought occured to him. "You know what?"

"Hmm?" she murmured, since her mouth was full of food.

"We're close to August now... actually, we're about to enter the first full week of August. Do you know what that means?"

"Mm - mmm."

"Emmanuelle said that she was planning on getting married sometime during the first week of August. She said she was getting married the first Friday of August. Do you know what day it is?"

She swallowed her food. "No."

"It's Wednesday. We'll be in Portsmouth tomorrow afternoon, and then we'll instantly get on the train to London. We should be in London tomorrow night - late." He paused and smiled. "This means that we'll be able to attend Emmanuelle's wedding on Friday."

She nearly choked on her tea. Then she bit her lip. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," she said nervously. "She's probably angry at me for killing your mother... no, in fact, I _know_ that she's angry at me for killing your mother... Sarah, too. No, no, no... I find the idea of attending Emmanuelle's wedding quite horrible."

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed. "_Why?_ Marc, it would scandalize all of London high society if we went... or, at least, if I went. You should go alone."

"I'm not going without you," he said firmly. "So either we both go or we both don't go."

"Then we're not going."

"We _are_ going, Christine. There's no question. I'm taking you to Emmanuelle's wedding, and you'll enjoy it. If London high society is scandalized by it, then that's their decision and their problem."

She shook her head. "No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"_Non!_"

"_Oui!_"

She looked annoyed. "You're doing it again! You're using my native language against me! Stop it!"

"Fine." He paused. "But we're going to the wedding."

"Marc -!"

"Don't argue. We're going to the wedding, and that's final."

She sighed resignedly. "Oh, fine. We'll go to your sister's damn wedding, if it so pleases you."

He smiled and kissed her cheek. "It _would_ please me." Then he kissed her. "Thank you, dear."

"Sure."

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The next evening, Christine, Marc, and Minuit got off of the train that had been going from Portsmouth to London.

Marc smiled and took Christine's free hand - her other hand was holding her suitcases and Minuit's mane at once. "Home, sweet home."

"Yes," Christine sighed. "London."

He gazed at her for a moment. "You don't want to be here, do you?"

"Not particularly. But it's your home, and you want to be here." She paused. "I'm more worried about the wedding, though. I'm afraid about what people's reaction will be."

He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. "Don't worry about them. You'll be fine." He took her hand again. "Come on - let's go find somewhere to stay."

"Aren't we going to Wellington Estate?"

He considered. "Well, I suppose we could sleep in the stables, so no one will see us. Is that what you want?"

She shrugged. "Sure. We could drop Minuit off there, too - we were going to, anyway, actually."

"All right. Then let's go."

Then the three of them - Christine, Marc, and Minuit - made their way towards the Wellington Estate stables.

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**A/N #1: All right, I've got a question for you guys - do you want me to write a love scene at one point? The rating would be upped, of course, and I'd let you know in an A/N before the chapter started. Or would you rather that I leave that to you guys's imaginations? Let me know, and if majority says 'yes', then I'll inform you of it, up the rating, and then let you know in the A/N. **

**A/N #2: Who saw my tibute to _Titanic_ (the car scenario, with Marc saying, "Some couple has probably done it once before.")?**


	27. Chapter 27: Wedding Guests

The next morning, Christine and Marc woke up in the Wellington Estate stables, their hair messy with straw in it.

"Come on," Marc murmured, helping Christine stand up when he stood up and picking up his suitcases. "Let's go inside and bathe - and get into some nicer - looking clothes. Get your luggage."

"Won't someone be in the house?"

"Heavens, no. They've all gone to the church to get ready. We have the house to ourselves. But we've got to hurry - the wedding starts in about an hour and a half. We either will get there just in time or be fashionably late. I prefer to be there just in time."

"All right," she replied, picking up her luggage, taking his hand, and walking to the house with him.

When they got inside the house, he said, "Go use the bathroom down the hallway." He pointed to the bathroom down the hallway. "I'll go upstairs." He checked his pocketwatch. "Meet me back down here in an hour. We'll eat breakfast and then take a cab to the church."

"Okay," she said, making her way down the hallway, entering the bathroom, and closing the door behind her.

When he heard the bath water running, he made his way upstairs.

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An hour later, Christine entered the kitchen to find Marc cooking a breakfast of eggs, toast, and tea.

She gazed at him silently for a moment, enraptured by how breathtakingly handsome he looked. He was wearing a tan - colored tailored suit with a white button - up shirt and a pair of brown loafers. His hair was slicked back.

After a moment, she cleared her throat to get his attention.

Marc turned and gasped when he saw Christine. She was dressed in a blue - green dress with white stockings and white shoes. Her hair was loose around her face.

He stopped cooking and extended his hand to her. She took it, smiling, and stepped up to him.

"You are a vision, Christine," he said softly, kissing her hand. "You look lovely."

She smiled and looked down at the floor for a moment. "Thank you."

After gazing at her for another moment, he let go of her hand, took some plates and teacups out of the cabinet, and started serving the breakfast onto the plates and pouring the tea in the teacups.

When he had gotten her food and tea, he handed it to her. "There you go. Go ahead and eat."

"All right," she replied, taking the plate and teacup from him and making her way to the dining table, sitting down.

He served himself his breakfast and tea and then sat down next to her. Then he folded his hands, closed his eyes, bowed his head, and murmured a prayer. Then he started eating.

"Are you nervous?" he asked in between bites of toast. "About going to the wedding, I mean."

She nodded. "Terrified," she confessed. "I'm quite sure that my attendance at Emmanuelle's wedding won't go over well."

He patted her hand reassuringly. "You'll be all right. You won't be alone - I'll be there."

"I should certainly hope so."

"Of course. I wouldn't leave you at my sister's wedding alone, especially after you -" He stopped short, gazed at her for a moment, and then started eating again without finishing.

She finished for him. "Especially after I killed your mother," she said, looking remorseful. "I _am_ sorry about that, _mon amour_. Truly I am. I didn't mean to -"

"Hush," he interrupted, smiling at her a little. "You saved me from a far worse beating than I got. It may sound horrible, but I rather wish that you'd gotten angry earlier."

She looked surprised. "Why, Marc! I never thought -"

"Don't get the wrong impression. I meant that I wish that you'd gotten angry earlier and stopped her sooner. I didn't mean that I wish that you'd gotten angry earlier and killed her sooner."

"Oh," she said, nodding. "Okay." Then she resumed eating, and he followed suit.

When they finished eating, they washed the dishes, and Christine put on her cloak.

"Oh, Christine," he sighed. "It's August. Aren't you ever going to stop wearing it?"

"Not likely. I'm used to wearing it in all seasons, although I was inside the majority of the time. Plus, I don't want people to see my mask." She paused, sighing. "It's probably not even a good idea for me to not wear my cloak at the wedding. Everyone knows _Le Fantôme de l'Opera'_s description now - someone might recognize me."

"Don't worry about that. We'll just deny that you're The Phantom." He extended his hand to her. "Ready to go?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied with a sigh, taking his hand and putting the hood of her cloak over her head with her free hand. Then they made their way outside.

When they stepped outside and he had shut the door, he raised his free hand and shouted, "Taxi!"

A cab that was driving by stopped. The two of them got in the cab, closing the door behind them.

"Where to, gov'nor?" the cabdriver asked.

"The Lord's Church, please," Marc replied, and the cabdriver nodded and drove away in the direction of the church.

After a few minutes, the cab pulled up to The Lord's Church. Marc and Christine got out, and then Marc paid the cabdriver.

As the cab pulled away, Marc stepped up to Christine and took her hand. "Ready?"

"Sure."

"Let's go, then."

They then went up the steps. He opened the door for her, and she stepped inside the church. Then he followed her inside, taking her hand when he got close enough to her. They came to two huge doors, which were closed. There was music coming from behind the doors, and nearby was a sign that declared that the union of Albert Tyler and Emmanuelle Wellington through the bonds of holy matrimony was going on inside.

"All right," he said quietly, and both of them took a deep breath at the same time. "Here we go." Then he opened the doors, and the two of them stepped inside.

The priest stopped talking as the doors closed behind the two of them with a soft _thud_. Then all of the people attending the wedding, bride, groom, guests, and all, turned to see what was going on.

There seemed to be a unanimous gasp made by everyone when they saw that it was Christine on Marc's arm.

"Oh, my God!" an old lady in the fourth row suddenly screeched, standing up and pointing at Christine. "It's the murderer of Jemina Wellington!"

"Oh, bloody hell," Marc muttered.

Every wedding guest started screaming. Some people rose and started advancing towards Marc and Christine, obviously intent on doing something to Christine - something that wouldn't end well.

Marc stepped in front of Christine and circled his arms behind him, around her, defending her from whatever might be coming to her.

The people who were advancing on them stopped steps away from the two. "Step away from that murderer," a man commanded. "She doesn't deserve protection."

"You won't harm my courter, Mr. Young," Marc said steadily. "I won't allow it."

"_Courter?_"a woman gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, Marcus - you are a disgrace to your mother and your family! Courting your mother's murderer... you must be mad."

"Push through him!" someone who wasn't part of the advancing group shouted. "He's not strong enough to protect her!"

"Get her!"

"Yes, get her!"

The advancing group stepped closer to Marc and Christine, threatening to step closer. When Marc didn't budge, they simply continued walking and pushed him aside. Then they grabbed Christine, who'd been trying to escape once Marc had been pushed aside, by the arms. Christine started screaming and struggling.

"Bring the sinner forward!" the priest shouted to the group. "She needs punishment!"

"No!" Marc shouted, trying to stop the group. "You leave her alone!"

"Stop it!" someone suddenly shouted from the front, causing everyone to stop and turn towards the direction of the voice.

Emmanuelle glanced from the group to Christine to Marc. "Let her go," she finally ordered the group. "She's my brother's courter. I invited her to come when I first met her."

The group groaned softly and released Christine. Then they made their way back to their seats.

"Come on, you two," Emmanuelle said to Marc and Christine. "Come and sit in the front row."

"Thank God," Marc sighed, walking over to Christine and linking her arms with him. "All right - come on." Then they made their way down the aisle to the front row.

Christine nervously looked around as they made their way down the aisle. She could hear the whispers, feel the stares, and see the points that were coming from the wedding guests, even though she was looking straight ahead. "Marc, they're all being judgmental."

"Don't worry," he murmured, patting her hand reassuringly. "Just ignore them."

After a moment, they came to the front row and sat down.

"All right," the priest sighed. "Now, to continue with the wedding..." He turned to Emmanuelle's future husband, Albert. "Do you, Albert William Tyler, take this woman, Emmanuelle Grey Wellington, to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, until death do you part?"

"I do," Albert replied.

The priest turned to Emmanuelle. "And do you, Emmanuelle Grey Wellington, take this man, Albert William Tyler, to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, until death do you part?"

"I do," Emmanuelle replied.

The priest nodded, smiled, and closed his Bible. "I now pronounce you both husband and wife." He turned to Albert. "You may now kiss the bride."

Albert pulled back the veil from Emmanuelle's face. Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

When the now - married couple broke apart, the priest announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to be the first to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Albert William Tyler." The wedding guests applauded.

Albert and Emmanuelle took each other's hands and then made their way down the aisle. Then the wedding guests followed row by row to go to Wellington Estate for the reception.

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By the time Marc and Christine arrived at Wellington Estate, every wedding guest except the two of them had arrived.

When they arrived, everyone who had attended the wedding turned and stared at them for a moment. It was quite obvious that they were scandalized by Christine's presence.

After a moment of awkward silence, Emmanuelle came through the crowd, smiling a smile that was obviously fake. "My dear brother!" she said in a joyous voice, embracing Marc and kissing him on each cheek. "How lovely to see you again. I'm glad you were able to make my wedding."

Marc felt Christine relax beside him. It was obvious that she was glad that his sister was at least pretending to be unfazed by her scandalous appearance.

He smiled and replied, "Of course I was going to come, Emmanuelle. I wouldn't have missed your wedding for anything."

Emmanuelle smiled. "Wonderful." She turned to Christine, and Christine saw a flicker of distaste pass through her eyes. "Hello, Christine. Good to see you again."

Christine smiled a smile that was, much to Marc's surprise, genuine. "It's good to see you again as well, Emmanuelle... or should I say _Madame_ Tyler. Congratulations on your happy day."

"Thank you," Emmanuelle replied. "Well, let's not be strangers, shall we? Let's celebrate!"

Once she'd said that, every other wedding guest started speaking again.

"Let's introduce ourselves," Marc said, taking Christine's hand and starting to walk around to various clusters of wedding guests.

Everyone that Christine was introduced to were courteous and seemed kind, but Christine could see their strong sense of dislike in their eyes. It made her nervous, but having Marc there helped.

After Christine had been introduced to everyone, Marc kissed and patted her hand and said to her, "I'm going to go talk to Emmanuelle and Albert and congratulate. I haven't gotten a chance to speak to both of them together yet. Will you be all right here? I'll come back and then bring you to them."

She faked a smile and nodded bravely. "Certainly. Go ahead."

"Very good." He kissed her cheek, then vanished in the crowd as he made his way to the parlor, where the married couple was.

After standing there for a moment, Christine made her way to a nearby refreshments table and poured herself some punch. Then she started drinking the punch, and it was then that she heard a nearby group talking to each other quietly. They were talking about her and Marc.

"Can you believe the nerve?" a young woman demanded. "Bringing his own mother's murderer to his sister's wedding! And he's courting her - bah!"

"Yes," a man murmured. "It's quite scandalous of him... listen, I'm wondering if I'm crazy, so I'm going to ask... does she look familiar to any of you?"

"I'm not sure," another man replied. "What do you mean?"

"I think she looks like The Phantom of the Opera. If I remember correctly, The Phantom has black hair, grey - green eyes, and a white half - mask on the right side of her face. She matches that description perfectly."

Christine felt herself stiffen slightly. Someone suspected her! She'd known that someone would.

"Hmm," a second woman murmured thoughtfully. "I suppose she does resemble The Phantom... but Marcus wouldn't do something so horrible, would he?"

"Please," one of the men scoffed. "He's already courting his mother's murderer... why wouldn't he court The Phantom of the Opera?"

"Indeed!" one of the women replied. "Marcus Wellington... a disgrace to a good name if I ever saw one! He's so brash, so selfish - I don't know how he's a Wellington at all... certainly not by name. He has no sense of honor, no sense of pride. His parents must be rolling in their graves to have such a son."

Christine clenched her left hand into a fist. She didn't like the way this woman was talking about Marc.

"You know what?" the offending woman continued. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's already _romanced_ her, if you get my meaning."

"_Oh!_"the other woman gasped. "Surely he wouldn't; they're not even _engaged_..."

"So? Like I said, he has no honor. He's probably bedded her every night since they started courting!"

Christine clenched her other hand - the hand that was holding the glass of punch - into a fist as best she could, and it caused her to break the glass into multiple pieces, and the pieces went into her hand and cut it, and have the punch spill all over the floor. But she didn't care. She was going to say something to that woman, and if it ended in death for someone, then so be it. She turned in the direction of the group and made her way towards them.

The offending woman, she could tell after a moment, was turned away from her. So, when she got close enough, she lightly placed a hand on the woman's shoulder.

"Excuse me," she said softly.

The other woman and the two men in the group saw that it was she, and their faces went pale and their jaws dropped. The offending woman turned to face Christine and raised her eyebrows when she saw who it was. "Yes?" the woman asked.

Christine took a deep breath. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," she continued in as polite a voice as she could, "and I'm afraid I must interject." She paused. "Marc Wellington is the single most selfless and caring person I have ever known. What you are saying about him is quite appalling and, ultimately, wrong. So I would appreciate it if you stopped speaking about him in this way this instant."

As the offending woman opened her mouth to reply, Christine felt a hand come down on her shoulder. She turned and saw that it was Marc and smiled at him. "Hello, _mon amour_." Then she kissed him passionately and moaned softly and linked her hands behind his neck, halfway because she wanted to and halfway to spite the offending woman.

When they broke apart, Marc smiled and took her hand. "Come - let's introduce you formally to Emmanuelle and Albert." He looked at the group that had been talking about him, nodded, and smiled. "Good day to you." Then he led Christine into the parlor.

After a moment, he happened to look down at her cut and bleeding hand. He stopped. "What happened to your hand?" he exclaimed in concern, taking her injured hand in his and inspecting it. "Did you hurt yourself somehow?"

She smiled a little and shrugged. "It's nothing."

"God... save the queen," he muttered, taking her uninjured hand and leading her down the hallway to the bathroom to clean her injured hand.

He sat her down on a footstool in the bathroom, and he got some cleaning solution, bandages, and tweezers. "Now," he then said, sitting down on the floor and starting to clean her hand and pull the broken glass out of her hand with the tweezers, "how did you break the glass?"

"Well... I got a little... angry, and I accidentially broke the glass - ouch!" she hissed as he pulled the final piece of broken glass out of her hand.

He looked into her eyes and sighed after a moment as he tied a bandage onto her hand. "So you weren't socializing, like I'd hoped... I might have known." He paused, sighing again. "All right... who was talking about who?"

"That one woman who was standing closest to me was talking about you." She started to look angry and upset. "She said that you were brash and conceited; she said that you were a disgrace to your family name; she said that you've probably bedded me every night since -"

He put a finger to her lips. "Shh... leave it alone now. It's all right."

"No, it's not! She was talking about you - the entire group was!"

"Let them talk. Let everyone talk. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

She looked surprised. "But - why don't you? You've got to stand up for yourself! You've got to fight!"

"Nothing good ever came from fighting with people who are talking badly about you." He paused and patted her hand. "Just leave it alone."

"But -"

"_No_, Christine. I don't want you worrying about it, all right? Just leave it alone. They can talk all they want. Quit worrying about me. I'm fine."

After a moment, she sighed resignedly. "Well, all right." She rose. "Come on - let's go out and speak to Emmanuelle and her husband."

He smiled and took her hand. "All right."


	28. Chapter 28: Retribution

**A/N: Those of you who haven't given me feedback for a love scene (or not) need to A.S.A.P., please!**

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Marc led Christine into the parlor. There they found people gathered around Emmanuelle and her new husband, Albert, who were sitting on the sofa.

When they got to the married couple, Marc said, "Mr. and Mrs. Tyler, may I introduce my courter, Christine Vasille."

Emmanuelle rose and curtsied to Christine. "It's lovely to see you again, Christine," she said, but Christine could tell that she didn't really mean it.

Christine could do nothing but curtsy and reply, "The feeling is mutual, _Madame_ Tyler. Congratulations again."

"Thank you," Emmanuelle replied, and, having treated her guest with the expected common courtesy, sat down.

Albert, a tall man in his late twenties with auburn hair and emerald - green eyes, then rose and bowed to Christine. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Vasille," he said formally in his deep voice, taking her hand in his and kissing it. "Emmanuelle has said many good things about you."

"Not any more, I'll bet," Marc thought to himself, but remained silent.

Christine curtsied to Albert as he let go of her hand. "It's nice to meet you as well, _Monsieur_ Tyler," she replied. "Congratulations on your marriage."

"Thank you," Albert replied, then sat down and took Emmanuelle's hand in his.

Marc smiled and nodded at the married couple, then took Christine's hand in his and made his way out of the parlor. People who would have normally been in the way instantly stepped aside, obviously afraid of or offended by Christine.

When they were out of the parlor, Marc kissed her cheek and murmured in her ear, "Come on - let's go upstairs, and we'll not be heard."

Christine felt her face flush. "Marc -!"

"Oh, hush. Let's go." He pulled on her hand, and she had no choice but to follow him upstairs.

They were about to go inside his old bedroom when the door of his old bedroom opened, and none other than Sarah stepped out.

"Oh!" Marc exclaimed, obviously taken aback. "Hello, Sarah. I haven't seen you the entire time we've been here... how are you?"

Sarah didn't respond. She instead looked from Marc to Christine. Her eyes narrowed when she looked at Christine. "_You_," she hissed. "I thought it was just a rumor; I thought I imagined the whole scene in the chapel..." She glared at Marc. "Come in here - now," she ordered, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside, along with Christine.

When the three of them had entered and Sarah had closed the door, she turned and pushed the two of them onto the bed and forced them to sit.

"How dare you!" Sarah instantly started, shouting at Marc. "Bringing her here..." - she pointed at Christine - "you must be mad."

Marc didn't seem fazed by this at all. "She's my courter, Sarah," he replied calmly. "I have a perfect right to attend my sister's wedding with her."

"No, you _don't_!" Sarah screeched, stomping her foot. "She killed our mother! Is there something you don't understand about that? You brought our mother's murderer to our sister's wedding!"

"The murder wasn't intentional, Sarah," Marc replied. "It was defense. She was defending me. You actually ought to be grateful that -"

"That what? That she killed our mother to save your bloomin' arse? It's your fault for being in love with her considering who she is! Mother was just angry that you'd dare to associate yourself with a murderer, being a Wellington -"

"Oh, who cares if we're Wellingtons or not?" Marc sighed, rubbing his temples. "Wellington is just a name -"

"A bloody good one - a bloody good name that you're doing a bloody good job of ruining!"

"It is a good name," Marc agreed. "But, I suppose that if it is, in fact, a good name, one person from that family shouldn't ruin a name that's been a good one for countless generations."

Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped short and looked at him curiously for a moment. Christine actually thought that she might eventually reply, "You know, that's a good point..."

"Shut up," Sarah instead replied, looking angry that she'd been defeated by her younger brother in a battle of wits. "Quit trying to use the Wellington wit against me. You can't win this one, little brother. You've ruined our name by bringing her here." She looked upset. "And to _our sister's wedding_, too!"

"Would you rather that I brought her to _yours_?" Marc asked in a rather taunting tone, implicating on the fact that Sarah wasn't engaged or courting anyone.

Sarah's face went red. "You know what? I hope you're happy," she snapped. "You've ruined my reputation as well as yours and Emmanuelle's. Emmanuelle is so ashamed to have to associate herself with you... you've ruined her wedding!"

"I have _not_," Marc retorted. "She's doing fine!"

"That's what you think!" Sarah exclaimed, stomping her foot. "She was crying when we first got here, and not because she was happy that she was now married. It was because she was here with you."

"Oh, Sarah," Marc sighed. "It will be fine."

"Whatever," Sarah muttered angrily, then turned on her heel and made her way out the door. But then she stopped short and turned back to Marc and Christine, looking suspicious. "And I'd better not find out that those rumors I've recently heard of you bedding her are true, Marcus; I'm very serious!"

Marc pulled an innocent face. "Why, Sarah," he said in a mock - surprised tone. "I can't believe that you would believe all those horrid things!"

"Then why haven't you two gotten off of the bed? And why were you two coming up here anyway?"

"No reason." Marc and Christine rose. "Let's go downstairs, shall we?"

Then they started making their way out the door and down the stairs.

When Marc let go of Christine's hand on accident, Sarah grabbed Christine by the arm and yanked her back up the stairs. She pulled Christine into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

"_You_," Sarah hissed, her eyes narrowing into slits. "What are you doing here? Why have you come here? You killed my mother... you've ruined my life - ruined it! I wish you weren't here - I wish you were dead!"

"You're not the only one," Christine replied quietly.

"Well, good." Sarah paused. "I should turn you in to the authorities for all that you've done. You're a murderer, a monster, a horrid... _thing_! I hate you with all passion!"

"You're not the only one, again."

"Good. Now, I want you to go downstairs and _try_ not to kill anyone, all right?"

Then, without waiting for a reply, Sarah stormed out of the bedroom and downstairs, leaving Christine alone for a moment until she rose and made her way downstairs herself.


	29. Chapter 29: Late Night Reassurance

**A/N: Sorry it's been a while since I've updated! My beta took forever to get this chapter back to me... -still loves her beta- and to make up for it, I've got two (or three) chapters coming up!  
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_**Trouble in paradise... and Christine and I have only been together a little over a month.**_

_**It's all just as I feared when Christne killed my mother. Sarah and Emmanuelle despise her, and Albert does, too - and they don't mind hiding their feelings towards her now that the wedding is done and they don't have to be polite. And besides that, London society shuns her like she's the Black Plague, and rumors are constantly spreading about how I'm supposedly bedding her all the time.**_

_**None of this is helping Christine's already - low self - esteem... she wants to feel accepted by those that care about me, and it's not happening. It's not enough that only I love and accept her any more now that we're back in London.**_

_**I feel absolutely horrible about what's happening to my dear courter... and the worst thing about it is that my own sister - Sarah - is the worst of it. She constantly calls Christine a 'monster', a 'repulsive and despised thing that deserves to die'. I have no power to stop it, either - no matter how many times I lecture Sarah on being kind to her because she's extremely sensitive and can't really handle such negativeness well, she doesn't stop. I often hear Christine crying herself to sleep at night... and my comfort and reassurance when I go into her room because I can't handle it any more isn't helping at all.**_

**_Why do I have such a damned horrible older sister who insists on being so cruel to the woman that I'm in love with because of her past wrongdoings? It's not like _she_'s perfect!_**

Marc let out a sigh as he heard Christine start in on her almost - nightly crying routine on the other side of the wall, where her bedroom was.

Sarah had been merciless to her today. Nothing she'd done had been right in Sarah's eyes. If she tried helping out with washing the dishes, Sarah told her that she wasn't scrubbing the dishes properly, when she really wasn't; didn't she know anything, or was she that stupid? When she started playing the piano, Sarah shouted at her that her playing was horrible and to stop killing the piano.

After letting out another sigh, he sat up and got out of bed. Then he lit a candle, opened his bedroom door, and walked out and into Christine's bedroom.

"_Darling_," he murmured softly, sitting on the bed next to where Christine was lying and placing the candle on the nightstand. He started stroking her soft black hair gently, which he'd discovered that she found calming. "What's the matter?"

He heard Christine sobbing into her pillow for a moment before she whispered shakily, "I'm trying to be good... I'm trying... I'm trying..."

"I know," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "You're doing a wonderful job of being good."

"Then _why_ does she hate me so much?"

He didn't need to ask who 'she' was. "She's so wrapped up in your faults that she can't see her own, that's all," he replied. "She'll get over it eventually."

She sat up abruptly. "You said that two weeks ago, when we first came here," she retorted with a hint of angerness in her voice. "And it still hasn't happened! All your damn promises... they're worthless!"

He sighed softly, knowing that she was just letting her anger get the best of her and that she didn't honestly mean it. He then wordlessly wrapped her arms around her and embraced her, resting his cheek on top of her head.

She sobbed into his shoulder for a few moments, and then he finally felt her relax and let out a resigned sigh.

They stayed that way for what seemed like eternity until he broke away from her and cupped her chin and tilted her face towards his. "I love you," he whispered, kissing each of her cheeks.

"I love you, too," she murmured, kissing him.

They kissed for a few moments, and then he lay her back on the bed gently.

When he started to get on top of her, she placed her hands on his chest to stop him. "No... not here," she whispered. "We're not alone any more... Sarah's in the house."

"Who cares? We should do it to spite her. If she hears us and doesn't like it, she can cover her ears."

"Marc - no!"

"Come on," he murmured appeasingly, kissing her neck. "Let me make you feel better... I know you feel bad about my horrid older sister... so let me make you feel better and let you forget for a while."

"No... _ohh_," she moaned softly as he continued kissing her neck and embracing her tightly, pulling her ever closer to him. "Marc... _ohh_... no... no... stop... _ohh_... wait... don't stop..."

He laughed softly. "I knew you couldn't resist me," he said in a taunting tone, getting on top of her.

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A short time later, Christine and Marc lay in her bed together, trying to catch their breaths and holding on to each other.

"I love you," he murmured softly, kissing her gently.

"I love you, too."

"But it's not enough, is it?" he continued, sighing.

"What's not enough?" she asked, looking up at him curiously.

"My loving you. You have to be accepted by everyone now that we're here... right?"

She sighed and rested her head on his chest. "I don't know... I suppose so. It doesn't feel right not being accepted by your family. I feel like if your family doesn't love me, we can't be together."

"Ridiculous," he scoffed. "I imagine that your father wouldn't like me to some degree if he was around and met me."

"_That's_ ridiculous," she replied. "My father would absolutely adore you for loving me in spite of what I am... he'd admire you instantly and demand to know when he was going to be a father - in - law."

He smiled. "But what about what's happened? I mean what happened the week before we came here."

"Oh," she sighed. "He might not like that - if he found out. Actually, I don't think he'd like it at all, but I'd try my best to hide it from him."

"I see. Would he want to know when he was going to be a grandfather?"

She felt her face flush. "Marc! Why are you talking about children?"

"I'm serious. Would he want to know?"

She sighed and smiled. "No. I don't think he'd like to think about being a grandfather and being referred to as _Papy_ Erik or _Papy_ Vasille. It would make him feel old. Considering that he never looked old for some reason when he raised me, he wouldn't like to be reminded that he actually was alive and very old."

"I see." He paused and let go of her, then sat up and reached for his pajamas.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed and going back to my room."

She sighed. "Do you have to?"

"No. But it might be better if I did." He stood up, bent over, and kissed her. "Good night. Sleep well."

"You, too."

"Try not to worry about Sarah, all right? _I_ love you, and that's all that matters. Remember that."

She smiled softly. "Okay. Good night. Oh, and I love you, too."

"Good." He picked up his candle and made his way out the door, closing the door behind him.


	30. Chapter 30: Catfight

"What the bloody hell is your problem, Sarah? Why can't you be nice to anyone?"

A week later, Marc was lecturing Sarah yet again on her unfair treatment towards Christine. This time, Sarah's crime was ripping up a piece of staff paper that Christine had been composing on. Christine had been quite clearly furious, but hadn't done anything to Sarah, much to her own surprise. She'd simply gone to Marc and told him about it.

And now Sarah was paying for it - big time.

"She was actually _writing_ something on that paper, Sarah!" Marc snapped angrily. "She was writing a new opera... a bloody good one, too, from what she's let me hear of it in between your yelling at her because you think she's such a horrible pianist!"

"She _is_ a horrible pianist!" Sarah screeched, stomping her foot. "Just accept it!"

Marc saw Christine curl her left hand into a fist and set her jaw in the background. He knew that she didn't like anyone talking about her piano - playing badly, especially the way Sarah did.

"I want you to apologize," he continued to Sarah, looking her directly in the eyes to emphasize that he meant it. "You're being unfair. I don't like the way you treat her. She's not someone you can push around!"

"You're damn right, I'm not," Christine thought to herself, staring at the back of Sarah's head stonily.

"She obviously is," Sarah retorted, "or else she'd have killed me by now! Mother provoked her only once, right? And it only lasted for about a minute until she started choking the life out of her!"

"You drive her out of her mind, do you know that?" Marc demanded. "You provoke her beyond all human endurance... she restrains herself from doing you great harm every time you insult her or act mean towards her! She could kill you without a single thought of guilt!"

"She should do it, then!" Sarah snapped. "Go on - I dare her!"

"Say it to my face," Christine muttered under her breath, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.

Sarah heard her and turned on her heel towards her. "What did you say to me, you ugly thing?" she demanded, going towards her and trapping her against the wall.

"_Sarah!_" Marc shouted, stomping his foot. "Don't call her that! She's _not_ ugly!"

Sarah ignored him and stared at Christine, waiting for her to reply.

Christine bit her lip and considered whether she should reply or not. Something good, or something bad - most likely bad - would come out of repeating herself; she knew that.

After a moment, she decided to reply and repeated, louder this time, "I said to say it to my face," she replied, trying to keep her voice calm and low. "Dare me to kill you to my face, if you really want to dare me."

"Fine! I dare you to kill me, _monster_," Sarah replied, trying to see how far she could push her brother's courter. "I dare you to kill me, _idiot_. I dare you to kill me, _devil's child_."

That pushed Christine over the edge. _Nobody_ was going to call Erik a 'devil' in her presence and get away with it.

"That's _it_!" Christine shouted, pushing Sarah down onto the floor and getting on top of her, closing her fingers around her neck. "No more nice girl!"

"Christine, don't!" Marc gasped, rushing over to where the two were and grabbing Christine around the waist to try and pry her off of Sarah.

"I'll kill her!" Christine screeched, tightening her grip on Sarah's neck. "I'll kill anyone who dares to say a word against my father! She called him a devil; she called him a devil!"

"You're trying to be good!" Marc cried out, pulling on Christine even more. "You're trying to be good... remember that! Don't do this, please!"

"Go ahead," Sarah managed to gasp out to Christine. "See if you don't get run out of town by tomorrow!"

"I'd be glad to!" Christine shouted, tightening her grip on Sarah's neck. "At least I wouldn't have to put up with you any more!"

Marc grunted with effort and finally managed to pry Christine off of Sarah.

Christine, however, was persistent. "Let me at her, Marc!" she screeched, kicking and attempting to stuggle her way out of Marc's hold. "Let me kill her! Let me kill her!"

"No, no, _no_!" cried out Marc, tightening his hold on her. "Stop this madness, please!"

After struggling for another moment, Christine seemed to come to her senses. She relaxed and quit moving about. Then she bowed her head and started crying softly.

Seeing her that way made Marc upset. "Oh," he breathed, hugging her tightly. "Oh..."

"I'm sorry," Christine said wearily, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, I'm so sorry... I _am_ a monster..."

"I said that, but everyone wanted to argue," Sarah snapped, tenderly rubbing her neck.

"_Sarah!_" Marc hissed, looking angry. "Stop!"

"No, no; let her say things like that," Christine replied, looking up at Sarah and smiling at her tiredly. "She's right, Marc. She's right."

Sarah looked surprised. "You're agreeing with me? You're actually agreeing with me?"

Christine nodded. "Yes. Please let go of me, _mon amour_," she said to Marc, and Marc released her.

"I've been... well, let's just say that I haven't exactly been the little brother's perfect courter," she continued, walking over to Sarah. "But I'm trying, Sarah. Truly I am. And I'm sorry that I followed in my father's footsteps and became a murderer and terrorist... and I'm sorry that I killed your mother... but I was trying to defend Marc. I couldn't bear to see someone I cared about hurt..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked at some invisible thing directly to Sarah's right sadly.

Marc and Sarah looked at Christine for a moment, obviously surprised. Neither of them said a word.

Then finally, Sarah said firmly, "No, Christine - _I'm_ sorry. I've been inexcusably rude to you. I'm sorry I've been pushing you over the edge."

Christine looked surprised. "Really?"

"Yes." Sarah held out her hand to Christine. "Friends?" she offered.

"Friends," Christine instantly replied, smiling and taking Sarah's hand in hers in a gesture of friendship.

Marc smiled and sighed. "Oh, how nice this is. We _can_ get along here! I was beginning to wonder."

Sarah and Christine laughed. Then Christine said, "Come - let's all have tea."

So the three of them went into the kitchen to make Russian tea with lemon.


	31. Chapter 31: The Gala Invite

"Christine? Christine, wake up, darling."

Christine opened her eyes a month later and saw Marc bent over her, gazing down at her lovingly.

"Good morning," she sighed softly, stretching and yawning. "What is it?"

"I have something to give to you," he announced, smiling. "Now sit up."

"Okay," she mumbled sleepily, sitting up. "What?"

"Here." He held out a thin velvet box to her. "Happy anniversary."

As she took the box from him, she looked up at his enthusiastic face, confused. "What anniversary? We haven't been courting a year yet."

"It's our three - month anniversary today. I know it may not mean much to you, but my past relationships have barely gotten past two months. I just wanted to show you how happy I am that we've gotten this far, although I know that we'll get even farther."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad I've been with you three months, too. My one past relationship lasted only a month, and I don't think he even loved me."

"Well, Cameron's a fool. But I suppose that he and Emilie work for each other. Now open your present!" Marc finished impatiently, starting to bounce up and down on his toes.

"All right," she replied, opening the box to reveal an expensive - looking necklace that seemed to be made out of only diamonds.

Her eyes widened at it. "Marcus! How terribly... well, I can't find the word at the moment." She paused. "Oh, wait, I know - extravagant. It's much too much."

"Nothing is too much for you, my dear," he replied, holding out his hand. "Now give me the necklace and I'll put it on you."

She handed him the necklace, and he took it from her, sitting down on her bed behind her and starting to link the necklace together around her neck as she lifted up her hair.

When he'd linked the necklace together, he lightly pressed his lips against the back of her neck. "I love you," he murmured. "You're beautiful."

"I don't think so, but whatever you say," she replied, letting go of her hair, "and I love you, too. Now do you want to see it on me... in front of the mirror?"

"No."

"You don't?' she asked, turning around to glance at him in surprise. "But I thought you'd want to, since you bought it and everything -"

"What I meant when I said no," he interrupted in a soft voice, smiling at her, "was that I didn't want to see it on you in front of a mirror, with you wearing the necklace and your pajamas. I want to see you wearing _only_ the necklace while you're underneath me."

She felt her face flush. "Oh, Marc! You're awful!"

"Perhaps," he agreed, lying her on her back on the bed, "but you still love me."

She smiled and placed her hand on his cheek. "Yes," she said softly, "I still love you... I always will, undoubtedly. I hope you don't leave."

"I won't leave you," he vowed, kissing her forehead and getting on top of her, "ever."

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Later in the day, while Marc, Christine, and Sarah were sitting in the parlor, drinking Russian tea with lemon, there was a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," Marc said, rising and making his way to the front door.

When he opened the door, there was a personal messenger at the door, holding out a small piece of paper to Marc. "For you, Master Wellington."

"Thanks very much," Marc replied, taking the paper from the messenger and closing and locking the door.

As he made his way back into the parlor, he read the paper, looking slightly surprised.

"What is it?" Christine demanded as he sat down next to her on the sofa.

"I can't believe it," he murmured softly. "I bloody can't believe it."

"You can't believe _what_?" Christine asked impatiently, snatching the paper out of his hand and reading it for herself.

_Master Marcus Wellington,_

_You and your courter, Mistress Christine Vasille, have been invited to a gala, taking place a week from today at eight o'clock,_

_At the palace of His Royal Majesty, King George The Fifth, and Her Royal Majesty, Queen Mary._

_Attendance is expected by all members of England society and the King's loyal subjects._

_Please be dressed in your finest attire, and prepare yourself for a night of music, dancing, food, and merriment._

"Damn," Christine murmured as softly as Marc had. "The King of England... of the entire United Kingdom!" She looked up at Marc. "Do you know the King?"

"I don't, but he knows me. My father had the pleasure of meeting him once, and so now I suppose that he wants to meet me - and you. And I daresay he's heard quite a bit about you."

"Oh! You think so?"

"Yes," he said rather gravely, "but nothing good, I'll bet. So I suppose he wants to see you for himself."

"Yes, I'm sure he hasn't heard anything complimentary. So are we going?"

"Well, we're expected to. Of course, I won't if you don't want to."

She looked surprised. "You're asking me if I want to meet the King of the United Kingdom? You must be joking!"

"I didn't know that you'd want to meet him," he replied. "You're not very keen on meeting new people."

"As they're not very keen on meeting me. But he wants to meet me... so the feeling is mutual. I want to go."

"I don't think you should."

This statement had come from Sarah, who looked extremely worried all of a sudden, Marc and Christine saw, as they looked over at her in surprise.

"Christine, someone might recognize you," Sarah, who had discovered in the past month that Christine was The Phantom of the Opera, said. "Someone might know that you're The Phantom and try to have you arrested. That wouldn't be good."

"It wouldn't," Marc agreed, "but it's highly unlikely that it will happen."

"Actually, Sarah has a point," Christine interjected. "The authorities are still in hot pursuit of me. Somewhere like the kingdom could be an extremely bad place for me to be, where I'm so exposed."

"Nonsense!" Marc retorted. "Now, both of you are being ridiculous! Nothing will happen to Christine at the kingdom - which is exactly why we're going."

"Now, Marcus -" Sarah began.

"Don't 'Marcus' me!" Marc snapped. "Do you not think that I'm capable of protecting Christine from anything bad that might happen to her?"

"Of course not, but -"

"We're going, and that's final!"

Then, without waiting for a reply, Marc turned and stormed out of the parlor.

Sarah turned to Christine, eyebrows raised. "What the hell was _that_ all about?"

Christine shrugged. "He's very determined to have us go to this gala, I suppose. I'm sure he'll calm down soon, and I'm confident that he'll keep me safe from any harm that might befall me at the gala."

"I'm sure he will," Sarah agreed. "He loves you very much, Christine; I hope you know that. I believe he'd die if it meant keeping you out of trouble."

Then neither of them said another word and resumed drinking their tea.


	32. Chapter 32: Meeting The King And Queen

**A/N #1: Sorry it's been a while since I updated!  
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** A/N #2: King George the Fifth and his wife, Queen Mary, are real people. They were the King and Queen of England (or United Kingdom, whichever you prefer) during 1926, which is the year we're in currently. (We're also in 'October', if anyone was curious.) I don't own the King or the Queen; only what they say during this chapter and whatever other chapters they may be in.**

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A week later, Marc's car pulled up to the British kingdom, where the King and Queen resided and where the gala was taking place that evening.

Marc, dressed in the tan suit that he'd worn at Emmanuelle and Albert's wedding and his hair slicked back, stepped out of the car, turning it off as he did, closed the door, and walked over to the passenger side of the car. He opened the door and held out his hand.

Christine took his hand and stepped out of the car, and he was still dazzled by how lovely she looked. She was dressed in a black lace dress that was sleeveless and went down to her ankles. Her hair was pulled back into a glittering clip, and, instead of her typical white half - mask, she wore the black full mask that she'd worn the night of _Genius's Mistake_, which she'd found in her lair back when they'd been in Paris and brought it to London with her. She wore black silk gloves that Marc had bought for her that went up to her elbows. She had a silvery shawl that was draped on her shoulders, and on her neck was the necklace that he had given her as their three - month anniversary present.

"So this is where royalty lives," Christine said in awe as she gazed at the castle, holding Marc's hand.

"Yes; British royalty, anyway," Marc replied, pulling their gala invitation out of his jacket pocket. "Shall we go in?"

"Yes," she replied, and then let go of his hand and took his arm as they made their way to the front of the castle.

When their invitation had been accepted and they were inside, Christine looked around with undisguised fascination at the splendor of the castle interior as they made their way to the ballroom.

"Lovely, isn't it?" he asked, gazing at her intently.

She turned to him and smiled and nodded. "Yes, it certainly is," she breathed, starting to look around again.

He cupped her chin as she turned her face in the other direction, stopping and having their eyes meet. "I wasn't talking about the castle," he said softly. "I was talking about the way you look tonight."

She felt her face flush as he lifted one of her gloved hands to his lips and kissed it. "Thank you," she murmured shyly.

"Certainly. Now let's go in and show ourselves off."

They continued walking ahead, and they soon entered the ballroom, where everyone instantly turned to see who was coming in, but instantly turned their heads away again when they saw Christine.

She felt as though her face was on fire. "I don't like it here," she murmured uneasily, pulling him in the direction of the doorway, "and I've suddenly got a bad feeling about coming here tonight. Maybe Sarah was right; let's go home and tell her that."

He placed his free hand on top of her hand that was on his arm and pressed it reassuringly. "You're just nervous because of all the pompous old people here. We'll be fine."

She bit her lip for a moment and was silent, glancing around. "All right," she finally sighed. "We'll stay."

"Good," he replied, and then they made their way towards two empty seats that were next to each other at the huge dining table, where every guest was going to be seated.

When they had gotten their seats and Christine had placed her shawl on her chair, Marc took her hand. "Come on - let's go introduce you to the King and Queen."

She looked alarmed. "So soon?"

"Yes; we're expected to introduce ourselves right away, I imagine. So come on. We'll be all right. I'm sure they'll like you once they see how charming and beautiful you are."

"Cut the 'and beautiful' out of that sentence and you might have it right," she replied, and then started to walk towards the very front of the ballroom, holding his hand.

It took a while to get to the front, since there was a line to meet the Royal Majesties, but Marc and Christine eventually got there, and they saw a man and a woman, dressed in more beautiful outfits than the richest guests and crowns topping their heads, sitting on thrones and holding hands.

"I'll go first," Marc said, squeezing Christine's hand gently and going up the steps to the King and Queen of his native land.

"My King and Queen, allow me to introduce myself," Marc said in a low, formal voice, bowing so low that his forehead almost touched the floor. "My name is Marcus Wellington of the London Wellingtons, and I am the son of Anthony and Jemina Wellington."

"You're the son of Anthony Wellington?" King Henry asked, motioning for Marc to rise from his bow. "He was a great man... I was fortunate to meet him."

"As I am now fortunate to meet _you_, my King," Marc replied, nodding his head slightly. Then he turned to Queen Mary and took her outstretched hand, kissing it. "My Queen... how ravishing you look tonight."

"All right, Master Wellington; enough of the formalities," Queen Mary replied. She glanced behind him to where Christine stood. "And who is this young woman you're with tonight?"

"Ah, yes," Marc said softly, turning to Christine, smiling, and extending his hand to her.

"My King and Queen, may I introduce my courter, _Mademoiselle_ Christine Vasille of the Paris Vasilles, and she is the daughter of Erik and Christine Vasille," he continued as Christine walked up the steps and was up to where he was.

"The Paris Vasilles?" the King inquired, raising his eyebrows. "I've never heard of them."

"Well, Your Majesty, my family is not actually high society," Christine replied. "They were just simple Frenchpeople, but they were of great morals and ideas, and they believed in a strong King as leader, and they always thought of you as their leader, not the leaders of the Third Republic."

Marc gazed at Christine, impressed by what she was concocting up as she went along. She was smart; she was already picking up on the expected flattery.

The King, however, was taken aback by this flattery - he'd never heard it before. "Well, I, er... I'm flattered that your parents think so highly of me."

"They did," Christine replied, bowing her head slightly.

Queen Mary raised her eyebrows. "_Did?_"

Christine was silent for a moment. Then she said quietly, "My parents have both passed. My mother died when I was eight, and my father died shortly after my fourteenth birthday; almost three years ago."

The King and Queen looked sympathetic. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," the King said after a moment.

"You poor dear," the Queen replied, tears filling her eyes. "To be orphaned at such a young age!"

"Well, I've got Marc," Christine said, taking Marc's hand and squeezing it. "He's been so good to me since we met."

The King and Queen nodded. Then the King said, "Well, go on and celebrate. Go and dance!"

Marc bowed. "With pleasure, Your Majesty." Then he took Christine's hand and made his way down the stairs, leading her out to the floor to dance.

"I'm glad you picked up on the flattery," he murmured in her ear.

"I'm glad you told them my parents were married," she replied. "They would have been appalled to know that I'm actually an illigetimate child."

"I know. That's why I said that."

When they were out on the floor, they started dancing. People kept rushing and parting as they moved across the floor, not wanting to go near Christine.

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A few hours passed by quickly, and Marc, Christine, and the other guests had danced and eaten a filling dinner of roasted turkey, green beans, and rice.

"I'm full, warm, and tired," Christine murmured, yawning and resting her head on Marc's shoulder.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Come on - I'm sure the King and Queen will allow us to get a room for the night. I'm too tired to drive home. We can get into a room and sleep... and perhaps do some other things."

She felt her face flush. "Oh, Marcus... you're awful... and I'm too tired, anyway."

"Well, then let's go and get a room... or would you prefer to go home?"

"I don't care... I'd sleep in the car."

"I'm sure you would," he replied, picking up her shawl and draping it around her shoulders. "Well, let's just see if we can stay here tonight... I'm sure we won't be the only ones asking; some of the guests are dead drunk."

She laughed softly. "Okay. Let's go ask them."

They were about to stand up and go towards the front of the ballroom when they saw a figure walk up to the front.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?"

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**A/N #3: Ha! -points- Cliffie! -blows raspberries-**


	33. Chapter 33: Not Easy Being The Heroine

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?"

Christine glanced to the front of the ballroom and drew in her breath sharply. "Oh, no; it's Cameron," she said nervously. "I didn't know he was here..." She rose and placed a hand on Marc's shoulder. "Let's go, and we can just find a hotel to stay at for the night if you're too tired."

Marc took her hand. "Hang on a moment. Let's see what he wants. Maybe he doesn't know you're here, either."

"I don't think so..."

"Just wait."

"Is everyone having a good time?" Cameron Luc shouted to everyone in the ballroom, projecting his voice the way Christine had taught him to long ago. Everyone, including the King and Queen and excluding Marc and Christine, cheered and applauded.

"Marc, please," Christine said quietly, almost begging. "If we leave now, he won't notice us. Sarah was right - it _was_ a bad idea to come here. I should have just listened to my instincts tonight and not come."

"It's okay; I promise," Marc said reassuringly, squeezing her hand gently.

Cameron raised his hands in the air to quiet the guests and then continued, "Good. I feel morally compelled to tell you all a bit of news."

"I _really_ don't like where this is going," Christine murmured. "Let's go."

"Hang _on_, Christine," Marc insisted, still watching Cameron patiently.

"Most of you find yourselves in the company of friends," Cameron then announced. "However, this is not entirely the case." He paused. "Ladies and gentlemen, there is a murderer among us."

A nervous murmur went through the guests. They were in danger!

"_Marc_..." Christine whispered urgently, tugging on Marc's arm backwards.

"Bloody hell, you're right," Marc replied, rising, taking her hand, and beginning to walk towards the doorway with her quickly.

Unfortunately, just as they were a half of a step away from being out the door and being free, Cameron saw them and shouted, pointing at them, "Right there! The masked young woman!"

Marc and Christine froze, stiffening. Then, after a moment, Christine glanced at Marc and nodded, signaling that they should turn around, and so they did, still holding hands.

Out of the crowd, they saw two men advancing towards them as the crowd grew even more nervous.

Marc automatically went into defensive position, stepping in front of Christine and circling his arms behind him, around her.

Much to Marc's disadvantage, the men were much stronger than he was, and so they easily started pulling Marc and Christine away from each other.

"_No!_" Christine screamed, struggling wildly and reaching out for Marc. "Marc!"

"Christine!" Marc cried out, reaching out for her as well. "If you lay a single hand on her, you unimaginable bastard, I swear you won't live to regret it!"

As the man who was holding Christine reached up to her face, Cameron shouted, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you - _The Phantom of the Opera_!"

Christine's mask was removed, and Christine and all the guests started screaming. Marc started crying, protesting, "No, no, no..."

"We must turn her in to the authorities," Cameron shouted as loudly as possible over the screams of the crowd and Christine. "Someone go get the police!"

"I'll go!" a man who appeared to be in his forties shouted back, running past Christine and Marc and their captors out the ballroom door and out of the kingdom.

As Christine continued to struggle, a loud crack echoed through the entire ballroom, and when everyone looked up at the ceiling, the saw the huge ballroom chandelier drop the tiniest bit.

"Oh, God," Christine breathed. "The chandelier... it's going to crash!" She turned slightly and faced her captor. "Let go of me if you want to live!"

"How do I know you won't just run?" the man sneered, tightening his grip in her arms. "You've already been running for six months!"

"You're going to have to trust me!" Christine cried out desperately. "Please - I can stop the chandelier from crashing! And if I die trying to do it, then it means a lot less work for the executioner and undertaker."

After a moment, the man hesitantly released her. "Fine. Go."

"Thank you," Christine said gratefully, stepping forward, picking up her mask from where it had dropped on the floor, and putting it back on. Then she looked back up at the ceiling, where the chandelier was.

"_Que Dieu me donne la force_ (God give me strength)", she then said softly, crossing herself and making her way towards the stairway that she knew would lead up to where the chandelier would be, running.

Marc broke free of his captor. "Christine, what are you doing?" he shouted.

Her determined reply was, "Stopping history from repeating itself!"

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Christine entered the small room upstairs where she knew that held the chandelier would be located, looking for the chain. She found it and grabbed with her hands, then looking around for another chain to attach to it.

After a moment, she found another chain attached to a pulley nearby. Then she quickly let go of the chain, walked over to the pulley, grabbed the chain, and walked back over to where the chain holding up the chandelier was, pulling out the chain as she walked.

Unfortunately, just as she pulled on the extra chain to attach it to the chandelier's chain, it stopped short. She tugged on it, but it wouldn't budge any further. It was too short.

"Oh, _no_!" she cried out, stomping her foot. "Damn it all to Hell! What can I do?"

_Clunk._

She glanced over quickly and saw the chandelier drop down slightly. It was getting weaker.

"I have to do something," she said softly, glancing around for a solution. "I can't let all these people die! I've let too many die before, and at my hand. It won't happen again."

_Clank._

"Stop making that noise!" she snapped at the chandelier, of course not expecting an answer. "I'm thinking, all right? I'm thinking!"

She glanced around still before she found another chain clumped in the corner of the room. It wasn't attached to anything.

"_Yes!_" she cried out triumphantly, rushing over to the second spare chain, picking it up, and walking back over to the extra chain attached to a pulley that was sitting on the floor. Then she attached the two chains together.

"All right," she murmured, picking up the long chain and pulling it closer to the chandelier's chain to attach it as she held onto both chains.

But the chandelier was starting to get much too weak. Without warning, it dropped down even farther, this time dragging her along with it. She let out a cry as she went three - quarters of the way through the hole that had been created in the ceiling. She felt searing pain run through her right leg as she heard worried murmurs come from the crowd down below.

Marc heard Christine yell and looked up. When he saw her clinging to life with a chain, he gasped, covering his mouth with his hand. "Christine, be careful!" he cried out.

Christine desperately held onto the two chains, trying to figure out what to do. She glanced at the chains.

"They're close enough," she breathed to herself. "I can do this now."

Then she pulled the chains close together, feeling her arms start to grow rather sore, and then attached them.

She then pulled herself back through the hole in the wall and tugged on the chain. The chandelier didn't budge. It had been secured.

Sighing with relief, she sank down onto the floor, resting her head against the wall and closing her eyes.

Marc and all of the other people in the ballroom, King George and Queen Mary included, looked up at the chandelier, waiting for it at crash any moment. It didn't move.

Everyone started cheering, and Marc smiled. Christine had saved the lives of hundreds!

But where was the heroine? He ran upstairs to find her.

He found Christine sitting on the floor with her eyes closed. A huge gash ran up her right leg.

"Christine," he said quietly.

Christine opened her eyes and looked at him. "Marc," she replied, attempting to stand up. She instead let out a gasp of pain and winced. She was forced to continue to sit on the floor.

So he instead walked over to her and squatted down next to her. "Are you all right?" he asked rather worriedly, tenderly stroking her unmasked, undeformed cheek.

She smiled softly and took his hand in hers. "Never better."

He glanced at the wound on her leg and saw that it was bleeding heavily. "The blood dripping down your leg says differently. We need to find you a bandage."

He looked around for something to use, and, since he found nothing, removed his jacket and ripped one of the sleeves of his shirt off, then starting to rip in into smaller strips.

"_Marc!_" she gasped, her eyes widening. "That's your shirt!"

"It's your leg," he replied, starting to tie the shirt strips around her leg. Then, when he saw that it wasn't enough, he ripped off his other sleeve, ripped it into smaller pieced, and then wrapped them around her leg and tied them.

She smiled at him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Just as they were about to kiss, they heard the sound of a gun being cocked.

They looked up and saw four policemen standing there, pointing their guns in Christine's face.

"On your feet," one of them commanded to Christine.

With Marc's help, Christine stood up and faced the policemen.

"Are you the one we've been sent for?" the policeman demanded.

"Yes, _monsieur_," Christine replied.

"The man who had us come here claimed that you are supposedly The Phantom of the Opera," the policeman continued, eyeing Christine's mask. "Is that true?"

"Yes, _monsieur_."

"Very well," the policeman said, taking Christine's arm. "Come with us."

Christine walked out of the room and downstairs with the four policemen without argument. Marc followed close behind, a worried expression on his face.

When the policemen, Christine, and Marc were downstairs, the policeman who appeared to be heading the group turned to Christine and said to her, "Wait here, miss. We're going to arrange police - escorted transportation to Paris for you."

Christine nodded wordlessly, and then the policemen turned and walked away. As she continued simply standing there, Marc pulled her close to him and held on to her.

Cameron was standing nearby, anticipating Christine's long - awaited arrest. He glanced over at where Marc and Christine were standing and saw his best friend holding his worst enemy in his arms with a love that seemed almost inhuman.

Gasping softly, he saw it all in a second - Marc and Christine were in love! Marc and Christine... how strange, and yet how perfect!

But then he chuckled. "Such a shame that she's a caught criminal. This is going to end very sadly."

The policemen came back into the ballroom. "Come with us, miss," one of them said to Christine. "You need to be cuffed."

Marc hesitantly let go of Christine, his hands sliding down her arms, and she walked over to the policemen slowly, not letting go of his hand until the last second. He slowly put his hand at his side and watched as the head policeman placed Christine's hands behind her back and started to handcuff her.

"I don't think this is fair," Marc protested to the policemen. "Christine's a good person."

"She's The Phantom of the Opera," the head policeman replied. "She's a wanted criminal who the French authorities have been looking for for six months. She's a murderer and terrorist."

"Murderer and terrorist or not, she just saved hundreds of people!" Marc exclaimed. "She's saved more people than she's ever killed - unless she's killed hundreds of people."

"I (She) haven't (hasn't)," Christine and Cameron replied at once.

"See?" Marc continued. "So, murderer and terrorist or not, she's just saved hundreds of people."

"One good deed does not redeem a person of a lifetime of wickedness," Cameron replied to Marc coolly.

"Though it seems enough to condemn them," Christine said quietly as the head policeman locked the handcuffs behind her.

Cameron glared at Christine. "Indeed!"

"All right, all right," the head policeman said. "Come on, miss. We're getting on the train to Portsmouth in about five minutes, and then we're immediately getting on the ship to Paris."

Christine nodded, and Cameron smirked and Marc looked desperate as she and the policemen started to walk out of the ballroom.

"Wait!" Marc then exclaimed as the four were about to walk out of the ballroom, taking a step forward and holding his hand out.

The policemen and Christine stopped and turned around. "Yes, sir?" one of the policemen asked him.

"Let me come," Marc replied. "Let me come with her... I can't say my goodbyes just yet. Just let me come to Paris, and then I'll leave when we get there. Please."

The policemen looked hesitant, and Christine tried to hold back her delight. She wasn't going to be alone on the way back home, to her death!

"Well, if _he_ goes, _I_ go," Cameron cut in sternly, glaring from Marc to Christine. "Knowing Master Wellington, he'll try and get this killer" - he motioned to Christine contemptuously - "out of prison."

After what seemed like forever, the head policeman nodded. "All right. All of you come with us, then, and we'll get on the ship together."

"Christine and I will walk ahead," Marc replied, placing his hand on the small of Christine's back and starting to lead her away.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Cameron snapped, grabbing one of both Marc's and Christine's arms. "I don't trust you for one moment, Marcus Wellington. I'll walk with you both."

As Marc opened his mouth to protest, Christine replied in as nice a voice as possible, "All right, Cameron. That would be lovely of you to look out for us that way and make sure we don't get hurt in the dark."

"Indeed," Cameron muttered rather darkly, and then he, Marc, and Christine made their way out together, the four policemen following close behind them.

Then all seven of them got into the two police cars, which was a bit of a tight squeeze, making their way towards the train station.


	34. Chapter 34: Goodbyes

A few days later, Cameron, Christine, Marc, and the four policemen arrived in Paris.

"We need cabs," the head policeman, whose name was Officer Richards, said, raising his hands up to signal that he needed two cabs.

Shortly after, the cabs pulled up to the seven people.

The driver of the first cab looked slightly bemused by this odd group. Four policemen, two men dressed up in fancy clothes, and a woman dressed up in fancy clothes with her hands handcuffed behind her back - well, now he had seen them all.

"Where are you headed, _monsieur_?" the cabdriver asked Officer Richards.

"I need both of these cabs to go to the police station," Officer Richards instructed. "We've got a dangerous criminal in custody who needs to be turned in immediately."

The cabdriver glanced anxiously at Christine for a moment, and Christine nodded and shrugged.

"_Le Fantôme de l'Opera_," the cabdriver breathed, crossing himself as he looked at Officer Richards. "Please, _monsieur_ - get in my cab and the one behind me, and I swear I'll drive you there as quickly as possible. By God, I'll even put on sirens that I have in my car!"

Christine had to stifle her laughter. A cabdriver had sirens in his car? He was obviously waiting to use them for something terribly important!

"All right," Officer Richards said, motioning for the other three police officers and Cameron to get into the second cab. Then he, Christine, and Marc got into the first cab.

"On the double, man!" Officer Richards instructed as the cabdriver turned on the sirens that he had in his cab.

"_Oui_, _monsieur!_" the cabdriver replied, putting on the gas and driving away from the dock as quickly as possible. The cab behind them followed.

A few minutes later, the cabs pulled up to the Paris Police Station, and the cabdrivers seemed to jump out of their cabs as they got out and rushed into the station to announce the long - awaited arrival of The Phantom of the Opera.

Marc, Cameron, Christine, Officer Richards, and the other three police officers got out of their cabs at a more leisurely pace - especially Christine and Marc. They weren't exactly itching to put Christine in jail.

"Hurry up!" one of the policemen barked rather harshly, pushing Christine forward as she nearly stumbled.

"Don't push me!" Christine shouted at the policeman, now provoked by the fact that she was about to be imprisoned and the fact that this policeman was pushing her.

"Leave her alone!" Marc protested, looking about twice as irritated as Christine.

"Shut up, both of you," Officer Richards ordered. "Now hurry up and get into the station like you've got somewhere to be, which you, Miss Criminal, do."

"I have a name," Christine muttered darkly. "It's Christine."

"No one cares what your name is," Cameron said to her coldly, pushing her again. "Now get in there!"

"I said to leave her alone!" Marc shouted, punching Cameron in the nose.

Cameron staggered, and then placed a hand over his nose, which was starting to bleed. "You hit me!"

"Obviously!" Marc snapped, spitting close to Cameron's feet. "Traitor!"

"Good citizen," a new voice said. "Good person, not traitor."

The seven oddly - assorted people looked ahead and saw Officer Draius, chief of the French police, walking towards them - mostly towards Christine.

"Well done, _Monsieur_ Luc," Draius continued, nodding to Cameron. "You've assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive."

"Just doing my civic duty, sir," Cameron replied, smirking at Marc and Christine.

Draius came to Christine, who stood there and stared at him contemptuously, since she recognized him as the man who had treated her so badly when she'd first been captured.

"Well, well, well," he said softly, walking around her and inspecting her. "If it isn't _mademoiselle le fantôme_. I recall catching you quite some time ago... how long has it been now... six months?"

"I must compliment you, _chef de police_," Christine replied bitingly. "Your voice is much quieter than the last time we saw each other. It must be out of respect for your fellow law enforcers, since you certainly wouldn't spare _my_ hearing."

Marc winced, worried that that would cost her right then, but Draius simply laughed. "Charming girl."

He turned to Marc. "And _you_, _Monsieur_ Wellington... I believe that you lied to some of my men shortly after this criminal escaped. Said you were sick, I believe?"

Marc tried not to betray his astonishment. "Where would you get that idea, sir? I'm a law - abiding citizen, just as Master Luc is."

"Yes," Draius droned, unconvinced. "Forgive me, _Monsieur_ Wellington, but taking up with a criminal is not exactly being a law - abiding citizen."

Marc straightened himself. "All right, I won't deny it. I took up with a criminal. Is that such a crime? Is it a crime to love?"

"Thank you, Marc," Christine thought to herself, bowing her head to hide her smile. "That was a very nice comeback."

"Yes, well, it could put _you_ in prison as well," Draius replied. "After all, you housed a wanted criminal."

Christine let out a gasp. "_No!_" she protested. "Please, _Chef_ Draius, don't put him away. He's shown me nothing but kindness, even if I didn't deserve it."

Draius chuckled. "Got a soft spot for him, have you? You're not the hardened criminal you try to be after all... very well, I shan't put him away, since you made such a short and moving argument."

Christine nodded. "Thank you. I much appreciate that."

"All right," Draius replied. "Now, criminal, let's go." He turned to the British officers. "Thank you, _messieurs_; I'll take it from here."

"Very well," Officer Richards replied, and then he, the three other officers, and Draius saluted each other before the British officers left.

"Now, criminal," Draius commanded to Christine, "say your goodbyes now, and try to make them as short and undramatic as possible."

Christne nodded. "All right," she replied, turning to Marc.

"Good." Draius turned to Cameron. "_Monsieur_ Luc, you may go now. Thank you for your assistance."

"Any time," Cameron replied, smirking at Marc and Christine and then turning and making his way towards his home.

Christine ignored Cameron completely and turned to Marc, who was staring after Cameron contemptuously.

"Would you please uncuff me, _chef de police_?" Christine asked Draius politely. "I promise not to run."

Draius complied and uncuffed her, and when she was freed, she placed her hands on Marc's face and turned his face towards hers so that their eyes met.

"Ignore him," she said gently. "He doesn't matter."

Marc nodded. "You're right," he agreed sadly. "You're the only one who matters." He sighed and placed his hands on top of hers. "Whatever will I do without you?"

"I'm sure you'll manage," she said softly. "You'll probably have forgotten my name within a month, anyway."

He managed a laugh. "Are you being serious? I could never forget you, Christine. _Ever_. Even if I wanted to."

She smiled. "I couldn't forget you, either. But... this is the last time we'll see each other."

"No, it's not," he corrected. "We'll see each other again very soon."

She didn't notice any possible hidden meaning in his words, so she simply shrugged and smiled sadly. "So... this is goodbye, then."

He sighed resignedly. "Yes... this is goodbye. I'll miss you, and I'll think about you every time I'm cold and alone in bed with no one to make love with."

She laughed softly, feeling her face flush slightly. "I'm sure you will."

He simply gazed at her for a moment, this young woman whom he loved unconditionally, and then kissed her, wrapping his arms around her waist, embracing her tightly, as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

They held the kiss there for much longer than they'd ever held a kiss before, making it seem like forever.

But then the moment ended, and he broke the kiss with obvious hesitance, then pressing his forehead against hers and closing his eyes. She, too, closed her eyes.

"I love you, Christine Vasille," he whispered, and when she opened her eyes to meet his now - open ones, she saw that he appeared to be on the verge of tears. "I'll always love you."

"I'll always love you, too," she whispered, feeling her eyes start to fill with tears as a lump started to rise in her throat.

"All right, that's enough!" Draius snapped, grabbing Christine by the arm and roughly pulling her away from Marc. "It's time for you to go, _criminel_."

"Goodbye, Christine," Marc cried out as Christine and Draius started to turn and walk into the police station. "I love you!"

"I love you, too, Marc!" Christine replied, letting a sob escape from the back of her throat as Draius pushed her inside the police station and closed the door, now having Marc be out of sight.

Marc stared at the closed door of the police station for a moment, and then starting sobbing without holding anything back, turning and making his way towards his house in Paris brokenly.

As Christine, tears streaming down her cheeks, was pushed into her cell and locked in, she rushed over to the window, hoping to at least get a view of Marc.

She got her wish and saw him, turned away from her, walking away, obviously heading towards the place where they'd first met.

"Goodbye, Marc, _mon seul et unique véritable amour_ (my one true love)," she whispered. "_N'oublie pas tout ce que nous avons déjà vécu_ (Don't forget everything we shared together)."


	35. Chapter 35: Running Away

Late at night a week later, Christine sat in her cell at the police station, brooding on how her life had gone from happy to awful in a matter of minutes - all because of Cameron Luc.

She had been informed earlier in the day, after a beating by Chief Draius, that her execution was planned for two weeks from that day, and that a very large crowd was expected.

"You'll be the most famous criminal since - well, since I don't remember when, actually!" Draius had proclaimed. "Doesn't that make you happy?"

"Sure it does," she had replied sarcastically, rewarding her with another five - minute beating.

She winced as she lightly pressed a finger against her unmasked, undeformed cheek, which had been bruised badly as a result of the beating she'd gotten after making her sarcastic reply, and she felt hatred towards Chief Draius.

Hatred for Chief Draius...

Hatred for Cameron Luc...

Hatred for the King and Queen of England for requiring her to go to that blasted gala...

Hatred for the British police officers that had brought her back to Paris...

_Hatred for everyone!_

Well, almost everyone.

"You don't hate Marc," she thought to herself. "Sweet, loving Marc... who's never done me harm for as long as I've known him. Oh, how I wish he was here with me now!"

Now that she was thinking about Marc, it occured to her that he was most likely still in Paris. He was probably coming to watch her die... that was what he had meant by "We'll see each other again very soon."

Well, at least she'd see a friendly face before facing a short drop and a sudden stop... but she wished that she would see him sooner; she wished that he would come and try to save her from being killed, as he'd saved her from killing herself.

Closing her eyes and resting her head against the wall wearily, she softly started singing _Come What May_ to herself.

_Never knew I could feel like this -_

_Like I've never seen the sky_

_Before..._

_Want to vanish_

_Inside your kiss..._

_Every day I love you more_

_And more..._

_Listen to my heart -_

_Can you hear? It sings,_

_Tellin' me to give you everything..._

_Seasons may change,_

_Winter to spring..._

_But I love you_

_Until the end of time..._

"Quit that singing, Criminal," she heard Draius's voice bark. "It's annoying."

Deciding that if he wanted to kill her for her disobedience, it would actually be a mercy, she ignored him and continued singing.

_Come what may..._

_Come what may..._

_I will love you_

_Until my dying day..._

_Suddenly the world_

_Seems such a perfect place..._

_Suddenly it moves_

_With such a perfect grace..._

"I said to stop!" Draius shouted as she heard the front door of the police station open and close.

_Suddenly my life doesn't seem_

_Such a waste..._

_It all revolves around you..._

"I'm warning you, Criminal, damn it! Don't make me come over there and beat you to death!"

_And there's no mountain too high,_

_No river too wide..._

_Sing out this song_

_And I'll be there by your side..._

_Storm clouds may gather,_

_And stars may collide..._

_But I love you_

_Until the end_

_Of time..._

_Come what may..._

_Come ­_-

She cut her singing short when she heard someone punch someone else and heard Draius moan.

She then saw a shadow on the ground, advancing towards her cell. When the shadow fell directly in front of her cell, she looked up.

Then, standing there before her, was Marc, the hood of his cloak covering his head.

"_Marc!_" she cried out, letting out a sob of joy and relief and rising, placing her hands on the cell door bars. "You're here!"

"I told you that I wouldn't ever abandon you," he said, placing his hands on top of hers, "and I meant it."

Tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Marc - we've got to hurry! Please, get me out!"

"Where are the keys?"

"Draius has them," she said, pointing to where Draius, whom Marc had punched, lay unconscious on the floor.

He squatted down next to Draius and pulled the ring of keys off of the beltloop of his pants. Then he rose, scanning the keys. "Which one?"

"The silver one - the smallest silver one."

He found the key and stuck it in the key hole, turning it and pulling the cell door open as it unlocked.

She ran out of the cell and ran into him, throwing her arms around him and starting to cry. "Oh, Marc!"

"Christine," he breathed, burying his face in her dark hair for a moment and then pulling away from her, looking into her eyes and then kissing her without another moment's hesitation.

"I told you I'd see you soon," he said, placing his hands on her face.

"Ouch!" she hissed, pulling back because he'd touched her bruised cheek. "That hurts."

"What's the matter?" he demanded, stepping closer and examining her cheek in the weak light. "Someone hit you? Who?"

"Draius."

His brown eyes burned with fury, and he turned to Draius, holding onto Christine's hand. Then he kicked Draius roughly in the gut. "Bastard!"

"Come on; we've got to go," she said urgently, pulling on his arm to their right, where the back door of the police station was.

"You're right," he agreed, turning and walking quickly towards the door, still holding her hand.

When they were outside, he held something long out to her. "Here. Hide yourself."

"My cloak," she said softly, grabbing it from him and pulling it on, tying it together and pulling the hood over her head. Then she took his hand. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Then let's run," he replied, turning and starting to sprint away from the police station, staying to the alleys, she slightly behind him.

"We're going to go to my house really quickly," he panted as they continued running, "and we're going to pack as quickly as possible. Then we're going to leave and start running. We'll board the next ship to America from Brest. We'll change our names; we'll disapppear... we'll start a new life together."

"And you've thought of all of this in a week?"

"Well, I had to do something without you," he replied, smiling at her.

"And you would do that for me? You would disappear from the face of the earth and become someone new... all so that I wouldn't be executed?"

"Without a doubt."

She stopped running, which caused him to stop as well, and she pulled him close to her, gazing into his eyes. "You're the most sacrificial person I've ever met. Do you know that?"

"I do now."

She sighed softly and shook her head. "I love you, Marcus Wellington."

"And _I_ love _you_, Christine Vasille," he replied, and then they kissed again.

When they broke apart, he took her hand, and they started running again, heading for his house.

Once they arrived at his house and were inside, he commanded, "Don't turn on any lights; someone will know we're here. Can you see in the dark well enough to pack?"

"I've lived in darkness all of my life. I'll be fine."

He nodded. "Okay. Then hurry - go upstairs to the room that you slept in here and start packing the dresses that are in the closet. There's a suitcase by the bed, and no, Sarah won't mind if you wear her dresses."

"All right," she replied, turning and running upstairs to the room that she'd used and starting to pack as quickly as possible.

When she'd packed enough dresses to suffice for a while, she closed the suitcase and made her way back downstairs, looking around for Marc, who she didn't see.

"Marc?" she whispered softly. "Where are you? Come on; I'm ready to go."

"I'm here," he replied, walking out of his bedroom with a suitcase in his hand and pulling the hood of his cloak over his head again. "Now let's go out the back door."

She nodded, and they walked towards the back door of the house, suitcases in hands.

Once they were outside again, he grabbed her hand and started walking quickly towards the direction of the city of Brest, which was a long walking distance - they were going to walk.

"May I ask why you're walking?" she inquired.

"I'm trying to save our energy a little. We can't stop anywhere to eat and sleep, because they're going to start looking for you again soon. But don't worry about any of that; I got us some food and a blanket so cover ourselves with whenever we sleep."

"How long will it take to get to Brest if we walk all the way, which I assume we're going to?"

"About three days; two if we push it."

As she was about to reply, she heard shouting, and he placed his arm in front of her and pushed her against the wall of the building they were by roughly.

"_Ouch!_" she hissed. "What -"

"Shh!" he whispered, putting his finger to his lips as he peered out from the side of the building slightly.

"Damn it," he muttered after a moment.

"What?" she whispered. "What's the matter?"

"The police are out looking for you already," he sighed. "I thought that knocking Draius out would buy us a little time; enough time that we would already be on the outskirts by the time he regained consciousness and gathered together a search party."

"Oh. Well, we've got to keep going. Can we try sneaking around them?"

"Of course. But it might be hard, since it looks like they're going out to where we'd have to go to get out of Paris. I guess they think that we just started running away." He sighed. "We'll have to go to Plan Two."

"What's Plan Two?"

"I distract them and let them catch me, and you start running towards the city limits as quickly and indiscreetly as possible." He held out his suitcase to her. "Here - take my suitcase. It's got everything you'll need to get out of here and onto the ship, since it's probably not a good idea to stow away. There's food, a fake passport with your picture -"

"Wait - did you say _my_ picture? That's not a good idea."

"You just have to trust me, all right?"

She nodded. "I do trust you."

"Good. But my suitcase has food, a fake passport with your picture on it, and money to buy whatever you need when you get to America."

"But... what about you?"

"They'll put me in prison for six months, maybe more... but then I'll come to America and find you."

She bit her lip. "Which means that I won't see you for a long time?"

"I'm afraid it does. But a long time is better than never again, right?"

"Right." She paused. "Are you sure that you want to do this?"

"Without a doubt."

She sighed and shook her head, smiling a little. "Why are you so good to me?"

"You're my girl." He stepped closer to her. "One more kiss... and then we'll run our separate ways, you to freedom and I to imprisonment."

She nodded, biting her lip nervously. Then they kissed, holding it there for a moment.

When they broke apart, he whispered, "Goodbye, Christine. I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispered, tears filling her eyes at having to say goodbye to the one she loved twice in one week. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," he replied, turning and then running out from the side of the building, exposing himself completely.

"Hey, police!" he yelled, jumping up and down and waving his arms like a maniac. "It's me, Marcus Wellington, the mastermind of The Phantom of the Opera's escape! Come get me!"

"There's the ringleader!" Christine heard Draius's voice shout. "Get him!"

Without hesitation, Marc turned and started sprinting, and all of the police started running after him.

When Christine no longer heard their pounding footsteps, she peered out from the side of the building cautiously, looking around and making sure that it was safe to come out.

At length seeing no one in the empty street, she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, picked up her suitcase and Marc's suitcase, and started running, heading towards the city limits of Paris.

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**A/N: Don't you guys just love Marc? Don't worry; he's not gone forever (duh, this is a romance story)! I'll have the next chapter up as soon as possible!**


	36. Chapter 36: Hideout

Several hours later, Christine stopped running, panting for breath, placing down her suitcases for a moment and looking around to get an idea of where she was.

She saw a sign that read _Welcome To Orléans_, and then she knew that she was, quite obviously, in the town of Orléans.

Then she looked around, trying to find a place to hide where she could eat something and turn in for the rest of the night.

After a moment, she saw a huge bridge nearby and decided that that would be a good hiding place. She then picked up her suitcases and rushed over to the bridge, sitting underneath it and placing her suitcases down.

"All right, Marc, let's see what you packed for food," she murmured to herself, placing Marc's suitcase on its side and opening it.

She then found bread, chicken drumsticks, and a huge pitcher of water that had a lid. Her stomach growled when she saw them.

"I'm coming," she muttered to her stomach, not expecting an answer, and pulled the food and water out of the suitcase. Then she unwrapped the chicken and bread and removed the lid from the water pitcher, starting to eat and drink.

Despite the fact that she was starving, she ate very little of the food, since she knew that she had to ration her supply so that it would last until she was on the ship to America.

As she was then packing away the food, she noticed something - a piece of paper peeking out of the side of the suitcase. She grabbed the paper and pulled it out.

The paper was folded, and she saw _Christine_ written in Marc's handwriting on the front of it. It was a note for her.

She opened the note and started to read.

_Christine, my love -_

_If you are reading this, it means that our escape plan was, for some reason, unsuccessful, and that we have resorted to Plan Two. This means that I am in the custody of the police, and you are making your way to Brest to get on the ship to America alone._

_I know you must be astounded that I had two plans, much less one plan, but, as I most likely said to you earlier, when we were still together, I had to do something while you were jailed. And I also know you're surprised about Plan Two and what I'm doing in it, but believe me when I say that I know what I'm doing._

_Do not worry about being in America without me - you will not be alone, for I have recruited the assistance of an old friend of mine who lives in New York. Her name is Marian Gohe, and I have known her for many years._

_When you arrive in New York, you will go to an apartment complex called the Marts, which are located about five blocks from the ship dock. Then you will go to the second floor, room 2G. There you will find Marian, ready to assist you in any way she can, including shelter you. Just tell her that you are a friend of mine, and she will know who you are and that Plan Two is in effect._

_I know that you have an instinctive distrust for people that you do not know or do not know well, but you need not have any fear of Marian. She knows who you are (I located her when you and I went to New York together, and I explained her to you), but, fortunately, she is like me and chooses not to judge people by how they have behaved in their past. Should anyone come looking for you in America, which I douct they will, she will not turn you in. She is a kind lady, and I was lucky enough to be able to contact her this past week, asking for her help should I need it, and get a response that said she was perfectly willing._

_You need not worry about me - I will be fine; I can take care of myself. When we see each other again when I am released from prison and arrive in America, I will be in perfect health, though perhaps injured a bit as punishment for my actions, and thrilled to see your beautiful face once more._

_However, I need to ask one favor of you - and I need you to heed my word, since it is vital to the success of this plan... so listen (read, rather), and listen (read) well._

_It is of the most importance that you DO NOT RETURN TO PARIS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. If you return to Paris and are caught again, then my efforts will have been for naught. And that would really rather annoy (and upset) me!_

_Well, that concludes my instructions. I will miss you, my dear, but do not despair - this is not "goodbye"; it is "I'll see you soon". Tell Marian that I said hello, and behave yourself, because you will not like being in prison again, especially in a foreign country._

_All my love, Marc_

"Oh, Marc," she sighed, holding the letter against her chest for a moment as though it were the most precious object she'd ever held in her hands. "How on earth you love someone like me is beyond me... you're too good to me."

As she sat there for a moment more, she yawned sleepily. It was obviously time for her to go to sleep.

She placed the letter back in the suitcase, pulled out the blanket that Marc had packed, lay down, and covered herself with the blanket, not bothering to remove her mask, which she'd actually switched back from her black one to her white one that covered the bad half of her face back in London, before she'd left to come to Paris and be imprisoned.

"Dear Marc," she murmured sleepily, yawning again and closing her eyes. "I hope you're all right..."

After a few minutes, she fell asleep.

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"Tell me where the hell she is, Wellington! I'm warning you!"

Cheif Draius punched Marc, who was tied up in a chair in a cell at the police station back in Paris, in the nose roughly. Draius was trying to beat answers out of Marc - literally.

Marc chuckled. "I'll never tell," he chanted. "I'll never tell; you can't make me; nanny - nanny - nanny..."

"Shut up!" Draius snapped, punching Marc again.

Marc spit blood out of his mouth and said casually, "I hope you know that beating me is absolutely useless, because first off, I'm not even sure where she is. I told her to get out of Paris, but, for all I know, she didn't listen and is hiding in my house."

"She's not in your house. I already sent a group of my men over there, and the house was empty."

"Well, then she's either hiding somewhere else or she ran away."

"Where did she run to?" Draius demanded. "I know you know!"

"How do you know I know?" Marc replied. "I just told her to get out of town. It's not as though I gave her specific directions for what to do and where to go!"

"Oh, sure you didn't," Draius replied sarcastically, starting to circle around Marc. "Now, I'm going to ask you one more time, and I want an honest answer. _Where is she?_"

"Somewhere."

"Be more specific, damn it!" Draius shouted. "I know you know where she is, or where she's going! I know you told her where to go and what to do when she got there!"

"Please," Marc sighed. "What evidence do you have of that? None. None at all."

"Answer me, Wellington!" Draius boomed. "This is you last chance; next time I'm going to -"

"Chief?" a policeman interrupted from the cell door. "Come here, please. I have an idea of where she's going."

Marc softly drew in his breath sharply. Had he been so careless as to not discard of Marian's responding telegram, saying that she would shelter Christine should she come to New York?

Draius walked over to the cell door and spoke softly with the policeman. By straining his ears with some difficulty, Marc could hear what they were saying.

"What is this?" Draius demanded to the officer. "All I see is a bunch of scribbles on paper! Useless!"

"No, sir," the policeman replied. "It's _Monsieur_ Wellington's handwriting, not scribbles. He wrote down a very elaborate diagram of the two plans he had, a map included."

"What was the first plan?" Draius asked, sounding interested now.

"To come and simply free _mademoiselle le fantôme_ from her cell, and then go to his house, pack, and start running away."

"Running away to where?"

"It's blotchy. I can't tell."

Marc softly chuckled to himself. He'd blotched where he'd written _Brest_ and _America_ on the diagram they were looking at purpose. Not that they would ever figure that out!

"And what was the second plan?"

"The second plan was that, should the first plan not go as planned, _Monsieur_ Wellington would come out, show himself to us, and have us chase him away from where _mademoiselle le fantôme_ would be hiding. Then she would run towards wherever they were headed alone."

"I see," Draius murmured thoughtfully. "Well, how the hell will we find out where - wait."

Marc drew in his breath sharply again. Draius had found something - he'd left something visible on the diagram!

"Look at the map, man," Draius continued. "Do you see what he wrote down on it?"

The policeman peered at the map. "He wrote down _Paris_ and _Brest_. He left out all the other cities! Stupid Englishman; he doesn't know about any other French cities other than Paris and Brest!"

"No, idiot!" Draius snapped, smacking the officer upside the head. "He did it on purpose, see? They were going to go from Paris to Brest!"

"Ah, _oui_," the officer breathed, nodding. "Now I understand!"

"Send a group of the ten best men in our force over to Brest as quickly as possible," Draius ordered. "I want that criminal caught and at my mercy by tomorrow morning!"

"At once, sir!" the officer replied, saluting Draius and then walking away.

Draius turned to Marc, who was trying to hide his despair at Christine being caught again and his anger at his own stupidity, and smiled wickedly. "Well, _Monsieur_ Wellington, it seems that you are not as useless as you seem at first glance... and it seems that you'll be a free man tomorrow morning!"

Then, laughing, Draius turned and walked out of the cell, leaving Marc tied in his chair, closing and locking the door behind him.

When Draius was out of sight, Marc wiggled in his chair in anger. "Damn it!"

"Oh, please, Christine," he thought to himself desperately. "Get out of there; get on the next possible ship to America! I can't let you get caught! Or else this will all have been for nothing..."


	37. Chapter 37: A New Look

Three days later, Christine - now going under the alias Marie Jetyanne, the name that Marc had put on her passport - sat on the bed in her room on the ship from Brest to America, reading Marc's letter for the hundredth time.

_It is of the most importance that you DO NOT RETURN TO PARIS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES_...

"He sounds as though he thinks something is going to happen to him that will make me want to come back," she sighed, running her hands through her black hair, which was now getting rather long because she hadn't cut it in a while.

"Do that - go to the ship's beauty shop and get your hair cut," she thought to herself. "That will take your mind off of Marc. But you shouldn't be worried about him, anyway... he said that he'd be fine."

She sighed, placed the letter underneath her pillow, and rose, walking out of the room, closing the door behind her, and making her way down the hallway that led to the ship's beauty shop.

"I'm going to a beauty shop," she thought to herself. "How ironic... a freak going to a beauty shop! Ha!"

When she arrived at the beauty shop, she saw about five women getting something done to their hair or nails, and five women waiting on them.

"_Bonjour_, _mademoiselle_," one of the women cutting hair greeted her when she noticed her standing in the doorway. "How may we help you today?"

"I'd like a haircut, please," Christine said.

"Very well. Sign in, and I or another one of these ladies will assist you as soon as they can."

Christine nodded and walked into the beauty shop, picking up the pen and starting to sign her name on the piece of paper.

When she placed the pen down, she glanced down at the paper to observe how she wrote her new name in her handwriting, but then saw that, instead of writing _Marie Jetyanne_, she'd written _Christine Vasille_.

"Damn it," she muttered, picking up the pen and scribbling through her name. Then she wrote down _Marie Jetyanne_ and continued to stand by the doorway, folding her arms and observing the women who were getting their hair cut or their nails done.

After observing the women who were getting their nails done, she started to like the idea of having something done to her nails. It would be something new... she would look a tiny bit different.

"No," she thought to herself. "Don't do something to your nails. Just get your hair cut."

"Marie Jetyanne?" a voice inquired, interrupting her thoughts.

She looked up and saw a woman with red hair standing there.

"Are you ready?" the woman asked.

Christine nodded. "Yes, please."

"Then follow me."

The woman turned and started walking away, and Christine followed her to a chair, where she sat down.

"Now," the woman continued, walking behind Christine and starting to fiddle with Christine's hair, which she actually hated people doing, "what would you like to do to your hair?"

"I'd like to get it cut, please."

"All right." The woman started placing her fingers on different parts of Christine's hair. "How much? A few inches? A foot, perhaps? I imagine you just want a trim -"

"No, I don't," Christine cut in suddenly. "I want it all cut off."

The woman's jaw dropped. "_What?_ You want to cut all of your hair off?"

"That's what I said," Christine replied, sighing inwardly. She hated it when people didn't just accept answers and instead chose to continue like idiots.

"_Mademoiselle_, are you sure? Women would _kill_ to have your hair with how thick and dark and long it is! This is a God - sent gift -"

"Well, I don't believe in God," Christine interrupted. "I want my hair cut off, and I meant that when I said it the first time."

The woman sighed resignedly. "How short would you like it cut, _mademoiselle_?"

Christine considered for a moment. "Chin - length."

"And you're sure?" the woman persisted. "_Absolutely_ certain?"

"Yes," Christine said, clenching her left hand into a fist as she felt herself start to grow impatient. "Chin - length, please."

"Very well, _mademoiselle_," the woman replied, picking up her scissors, placing Christine's hair at where it would come down to her chin in between her fingers, and starting to cut.

Christine watched with interest in the mirror as the woman continued cutting her hair, watching as thick clumps of her hair fell onto the floor. The woman looked as though she was ready to cry every time some of the hair was cut.

When the deed was finally done, Christine stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, stunned by the fact that she was thinking that she looked... well, good. She was a completely different person!

"Would you like any other drastic damage done to your hair?" the woman sighed. "Perhaps you'd like it dyed?"

Christine shot the woman a glare that made her shrink. "No, thank you. That will be all."

"All right, then," the woman replied timidly. "Have a good day, _mademoiselle_."

Christine rose from her chair without a word and walked out of the beauty parlor towards her room, running her fingers through her newly - short hair and smiling a little.

Now, with luck, and perhaps a new wardrobe consisting of Sarah's party dresses that she'd packed for some reason, she would never be caught! She was a new person; she was no longer The Phantom of the Opera.

"Everything will be fine," she thought to herself. "I won't get caught, and Marc will be in America soon enough."


	38. Chapter 38: Marian

The next day, the ship that Christine was on docked in New York, and Christine was one of the first people off.

She wore one of Sarah's party dresses, which was blue - green and went down to her knees, shoes that matched, her white half - mask, and her cloak. Men stared at her for a moment as she placed down her suitcases and picked up Marc's letter to read where she was supposed to go.

She then saw the men staring at her out of the corner of her eye and placed the letter down from her face, shooting all five of them a venomous look.

"I'm courting someone," she said to them darkly, "and he would be very displeased to know that you were staring at me!"

The men didn't reply and instead turned away, acting casual.

She sighed, shook her head, and started reading Marc's letter again.

"The Marts," she murmured to herself, picking up her suitcases and starting to walk towards where The Marts Apartments would be loctaed.

When she arrived at The Marts, which was a huge building, she made her way inside and walked up the stairs to the second floor, looking for the door marked _2G_. Then she found the door, put down her suitcases, straightened herself, and knocked.

After a moment, the door opened, and a tiny woman with graying hair looked up at her.

"What is it?" the woman demanded suspiciously in a British accent. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I came for shelter," Christine explained.

The woman looked down and saw the suitcases, then looked up at Christine. "I don't run a boarding house here! Go to a hotel!"

Then, without waiting for a reply, the woman slammed the door in her face.

Christine let out a sigh of despair and knocked again. "_Madame_ Gohe, please! I'm a friend of Marcus Wellington's!"

After a moment, the door was opened once again, and the woman looked up at Christine wonderingly.

"You're Christine?" she whispered, sounding awestruck. "You're Christine Vasille, Marcus's courter?"

Christine nodded and smiled, letting out a sigh of relief. "Yes."

The woman's eyes seemed to fill with tears, and then she motioned for Christine to come inside. "Come in, child; come in!"

"Thank you," Christine replied, stepping inside as Marian Gohe closed and locked the door behind her.

"I must apologize for my rude behavior," Marian said, stepping in front of Christine. "People often come to my apartment, looking for somewhere to spend a night or two - God knows why! I thought that you were another one of them... but no, no; you are very much different from them. Let me have a look at you, my dear."

Marian then started circling Christine, inspecting her for a moment. Then when she stepped in front of Christine again, she smiled at her and said, "Well, I see how Marcus chose you partially for your looks. He said you were beautiful!"

Christine felt her face flush as she bowed her head, staring at the floor. "I'm not beautiful, _Madame_ Gohe -"

"Please, call me Marian."

"Marian. I'm not beautiful... Marc just chooses to see beauty."

"Certainly you are!"

"No, I'm not." Christine motioned to her mask contemptuously. "It's all because of this blasted face that lies underneath this!"

"Well, you may think it's horrid, and maybe everyone else does, too, but Marcus and I choose to see beauty in all faces. That's where he learned to see beauty in your face that is, as you say, horrible - I taught him that when he was a child."

"How do you know Marc?" Christine inquired curiously. "He didn't mention in the letter -"

"I was his governess," Marian cut in. "I taught him practically everything he knows."

Christine smiled a little. "Then you must be a good person, for Marc is a very good person." She paused. "Speaking of Marc, has he contacted you yet? I'm concerned about him."

"He hasn't contacted me since he asked for my help, but don't despair, child. Marcus has always been self - reliant, and he'll be fine. When you see him again, you won't think that it's been six months!" Marian replied reassuringly. "Now, why are we having a conversation in the hallway? Come with me, and I'll have you placed in my bedroom - it's the best bedroom in the apartment -"

"Oh, I don't want to take your bedroom from you!" Christine protested. "That's very bad manners from a guest, is it not?"

"It's very bad manners from a hostess to not offer their own bedroom, assuming that it is the best bedroom that they have," Marian said simply, turning around and starting to walk away. "Follow me, if you please."

Christine picked up her suitcases and followed Marian to her bedroom, which was actually Marian's.

"There you are," Marian sighed. "It's rather small, as is the bed... the bed might be too small for you, as a matter of fact. But it's no matter - I'll have the bed from the guest room moved into here, and I'll take my bed into the guest room."

"Oh, allow me to get it," Christine said, placing her suitcases down and starting to walk out of the bedroom. "Where is the guest room?"

"You don't need to worry about it, dear. I'll get it."

"Please," Christine insisted. "You're already doing enough by allowing me to stay here and allowing me to sleep in your bedroom. Moving beds is the least I can do at the moment."

"I know something you can do," Marian suggested brightly. "Marcus tells me that you make wonderful Russian tea with lemon."

"Well, I suppose I do," Christine said, shrugging.

"Now, dear, don't be so modest! How about you go and make us a pot, and we'll have tea and chat some more once I've moved the beds?"

"Are you sure?" Christine sighed. "I really don't want you to hurt yourself -"

"I've done it before, and I'll be fine. Now go on, dear - go ahead and make us that tea."

"All right," Christine replied resignedly, turning and walking into the kitchen to make Russian tea with lemon.

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"Where is she? Huh? Where is she?"

"Ouch! I don't know; I swear I don't!"

Back in Paris, Draius was beating Marc yet again, trying to find out where Christine was because she hadn't been caught in Brest. This time, though, it wasn't really what one would consider a beating - Draius had Marc's hands tied behind his back as he sat in a chair and was squeezing Marc's fingers with a wrench tightly.

"I know that you do," Draius growled, tightening his grip on the wrench. "Now tell me - where is she?"

Marc bit his lip to keep from shouting out in pain. "I don't know! I just told her to go to Brest; that's it... if she wasn't there, then she went somewhere else from there, if she even went there at all."

"I know you're lying. You had a very elaborate plan set out - now where were you going to go from Brest?"

Marc let out a shout of pain. "_Damn it!_ I don't know! I don't know..."

"How about you find out?"

"How will I find out? I can't contact her in any way! I don't know where she is!"

"No, you idiot; that's not what I meant!" Draius snapped. "I meant for you to tell me the truth! I know you know where she is!"

"I don't," Marc gasped in pain as he felt as though his fingers would snap in two. "I don't know; honestly I don't... I would have given her up by now because of how badly you've been hurting me!"

"I'll bet," Draius sneered. "You took up with her in the first place, and you knew who she was... you knew that this could happen to you some day! You knew! And you know where she is! So tell me, damn it!"

Marc let out another shout of pain. "_Penzance!_"

Draius stopped hurting Marc, loosening his grip on the wrench. "Penzance?" he echoed. "Where is that?"

"It's in England," Marc breathed, wincing as he tried wiggling his fingers to make sure that they were functioning properly. "It's on the east coast... or the west coast... I can't remember."

"You told her to go to Penzance? You told her to go to England?"

"Yes," Marc lied. "Yes, I told her to go to Penzance; to England."

Draius laughed, throwing his head back. "How foolish! How idiotic! Telling her to go to England... my men, or the English men, have probably caught her and are bringing her back right now!"

"I daresay."

"Well, then we'll just wait for her to come, then. And then you'll be a free man."

"Very good," Marc replied, and then Draius turned and walked out of the cell, closing and locking the door behind him.


	39. Chapter 39: Taking Care Of Each Other

Two weeks passed, and Marc was getting more and more injured and worried in prison back in Paris.

He was injured from Draius's beatings, which appeared to be getting worse with each new lie with that he told about Christine's whereabouts. His face was barely recognizable from the many bruises he had on him, and he was hurt terribly badly.

He was worried because of Christine's well - known stubbornness - what if she came back to Paris, not heeding his advice, and was caught and executed? All of his efforts would go to waste!

His thoughts were interrupted by hearing the cell door open. When he looked up, he saw Draius come in and close the door behind him, pulling in a chair and placing it in front of him.

"All right, Wellington," Draius sighed, sitting down in the chair in front of Marc. "I'm not going to hurt you today... I'm a tired old man, and I just want somebody executed for something, to be perfectly honest. So I'll cut you a deal."

"I'm listening," Marc said softly, gazing at Draius with interest. "What is it?"

"Since you're so damned stubborn and so damned insistent on not turning in your little masked lover, then I'll quit questioning and hurting you, and you won't have to lie to me any more. But there's a catch - if you're not going to tell me where she is, and she doesn't get executed, then someone is going to have to be executed - meaning you."

Marc seemed indifferent and shrugged. "Fine. When do you want me executed?"

Draius raised his eyebrows. "No fighting back? No arguing? You surprise me, Wellington. I thought that you would at least ask why I'm executing you, since I need valid grounds to execute someone, you know."

"Since you seem so aching to tell me," Marc sighed, "then tell me. Why are you executing me? On what grounds?"

"Housing a wanted criminal knowledgeably and withholding information in an ongoing investigation," Draius said rather proudly, straightening himself in his chair.

"How extremely wonderful," Marc said sarcastically. "I'm so glad you got that off of your chest."

"So you're resorting to sarcasm, are you, like she did? It didn't take her this long."

"I don't really care any more, Draius," Marc sighed resignedly. "As long as Christine is safe, which I know she is, then I don't care what happens to me."

Draius looked interested. "What is it about her that you care so much for her? Why are you so insistent on keeping her out of here, even if it means risking yourself?"

"Because... I love her."

"Why? She's a heartless killer."

"She _does_ have a heart," Marc argued, "and don't you dare say that she doesn't. She has one of the best hearts I've ever seen. You obviously don't know her like I do - you don't know her at all."

"I know only what I care to know, and that's her criminal record," Draius replied. "Which, for someone her age, is rather large."

"When are you executing me, Draius? Just tell me."

"A week from today."

"All right, then. May I go into your telegram room and send one of my friends a telegram?" Marc asked.

Draius raised his eyebrows. "Well, I suppose it would be all right. Come on, then."

"Thank you," Marc replied, rising and following Draius out of the cell to the station's telegram room.

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Three days later, Christine and Marian were sitting in the parlor of her apartment in New York, drinking Russian tea with lemon.

"I'm still worried about Marc," Christine said softly, taking a sip of her tea.

Marian sighed and placed her cup down on its saucer. "I already told you that you musn't worry, child. Marcus can take care of himself. He'll be with us in no time."

Christine was about to reply when there was suddenly a knock at the door.

"I'll get that," Marian said, placing her tea down on the table and rising, going out of the parlor and out of Christine's line of sight to the doorway.

Christine heard the door open and heard Marian ask, "Yes; may I help you?"

"Telegram for Mrs. Marian Gohe from Mr. Marcus Wellington," a male voice said brightly.

Christine pratically slammed her teacup down on the table and rose excitedly. Marc was contacting them - finally!

"Thank you," Marian replied, and then Christine heard her close and lock the door.

Marian read the telegram from Marc silently as she walked into the parlor, and Christine observed her for a moment.

"Well?" Christine finally demanded. "What does he say?"

"Oh, my," Marian breathed, looking shocked as she continued reading the telegram, not replying to Christine's question.

"What?" Christine exclaimed, then alarmed. "What's happened? Is he all right?"

Marian didn't reply, and Christine stepped forward to snatch the telegram out of her hands. Unfortunately for her, Marian noticed a moment before and abruptly stepped back, holding the telegram away from Christine.

"You mustn't read this, my dear," Marian said sternly. "I have strict instructions from Marcus for you to not read this. You shall find out the contents of this telegram when it is the appropriate time."

"Don't be ridiculous, Marian," Christine said, feeling herself start to grow more nervous. "Let me read it, please."

"I'm afraid that that is not possible."

"_Marian!_ Let me read the telegram; give it to me now!" Christine practically shouted, lunging slightly for the telegram as Marian continued to hold it away.

After a game of chase that lasted for about a minute because Christine was very quick, Christine managed to get the telegram from Marian, snatching it out of her hand.

"Give me that telegram," Marian instructed, trying to take it from Christine.

"Nuh - uh - uh," Christine replied tauntingly, holding the telegram up above Marian's head and out of her reach, since Marian was significantly shorter than Christine. "Not until I read what Marc has to say first."

Then she turned away from Marian and started reading the telegram.

_Dear Marian, (stop)_

_There has been a change in plans (stop). I am being executed a week from today, meaning four days from when you receive this telegram (stop). Do not tell Christine of this occurence until after I am gone; preferably when she is expecting my return in about five months (stop). If you let her know of this before it is too late, she will stop at nothing to return in time (stop). I cannot let her return and get caught (stop). Please, do not let her know of any of this, and also make sure that she does not ever return to Paris (stop). Thank you all of your help in this matter (stop)._

Christine stared at the telegram in stunned silence for a moment, outraged at this injustice. They were going to kill Marc! For her!

Without a word to Marian, she turned and walked into her room, placing the telegram down on the bed and starting to gather the clothes together, packing them in her suitcase.

She had six days until Marc was doomed... if she left today, which she was planning to do, then she would get there a day early. It wouldn't be a dramatic save, which was always a better thing.

"What are you doing?" she heard Marian's voice ask quietly.

Christine looked up at Marian, who was standing at the doorway. "What the hell do you think I'm doing?" she spat. "I'm going to save Marc, which is more than I can say for _you_."

"Now, Christine dear, listen -"

"You were going to let it happen!" Christine shouted. "You were going to let him die as though you didn't even care... as though he means nothing and is just a sacrifice that no one cares for! You weren't even going to have enough courtesy to tell me that he was going to die!"

"He didn't want me to tell you, dear; that's the only reason why I didn't," Marian replied. "He didn't want me to tell you for this reason exactly - because he knew that you would go back to Paris and get caught, only this time you'll do it on purpose, won't you?"

"You're damn right I will," Christine growled, closing and locking her suitcase, then walking over to the coat rack that was by the door and putting on her cloak. "He doesn't deserve to die."

"He's dying for a noble cause - for love!" Marian protested.

"Love is not something that someone like Marc should die for. Now I - _I_ can die for love, because I deserve to die anyway."

"No one deserves to die."

"Yes, certain people in this world do, and I am one of them. Dying for love is better than dying just because you killed someone, however, so it is better that I am going this way."

Marian sighed resignedly as Christine picked up her suitcase and Marc's suitcase. "There's no use in trying to dissuade you, then?"

"_Madame_, it would be a waste of your breath," Christine said, her voice icily formal as she brushed past Marian. "Good day, and thank you for your hospitality during this time."

Then, without another word, Christine walked out the door, walking out of the apartment and heading towards the dock to get on a ship to Brest, which would then lead to Paris.

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**A/N: I know you guys might think that I'm rushing (and maybe I am), but believe me - this story is _not_ near the end!**


	40. Chapter 40: Surrender

Three days later, Christine arrived back in Paris from Brest and America, looking around at her hometown with relief.

She was home. She was home, and now she was going to go to turn herself in and save Marc.

She walked in the direction of where Cameron Luc and his wife, Emilie, lived. She was going to go to see Cameron to have him turn her in - something in her didn't want to just turn herself in, so she was going to have Cameron go with her.

After a few blocks of walking, she arrived at the Luc house and placed her suitcases down on the front porch. Then, taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

She heard the door being unlocked, and then the door opened to reveal Cameron standing there, dressed in a shirt and pants, not wearing shoes.

Cameron's clear blue eyes widened. "Christine?" he whispered. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in prison!"

"You didn't hear?" Christine inquired, acting as though she was paying a common visit to an old friend. "Marc helped me escape, and then he had himself arrested while I ran away."

"I was wondering why you hadn't been executed yet," Cameron murmured rather thoughtfully.

"Who is it, _mon amour_?" a familiar female voice with a French accent inquired from inside.

"Oh, no one, darling," Cameron replied. "I'm just going to step outside for a moment, all right?"

"Certainly."

Cameron stepped out onto the front porch, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms to block himself from the cool early November when.

"Now," he sighed, "you said that Marc turned himself in while you ran away. So why are you back here now, and why are you coming to me?"

"Marc is going to be executed," Christine explained, looking rather desperate all of a sudden. "I don't know what grounds they're executing him on, but he is - tomorrow morning. So I want you to come with me while I turn myself in."

"Why?"

"I... well, I suppose I just don't want to be alone. So will you please come with me?"

He looked rather hesitant. "I don't know, Christine... I don't know if I should go to the station with you."

"Why?" she demanded. "You were so keen the first time! There's absolutely nothing different about this time except for the fact that there are no police officers from London and no Marc. So come on... please."

"No."

"Cameron, this is Marc we're talking about!" she cried out as he started to turn and open the front door. "He's your best friend, isn't he? You can't abandon him like this!"

"He'll hate me."

"He already hates you," she sighed, "but you're still his best friend. And if you really cared about him, you would come with me and act like you're turning me in."

"I thought you were going to turn yourself in," he protested.

"Well, either way - whatever works. I just want you to come, so you can see that I'm being arrested once and for all. Won't that satisfy you?"

"I won't be satisfied until you're dead."

"Then come with me - turn me in, or I'll turn myself in while you're present. And this time you can be sure that there are no escape attempts, since I'll tell Marc not to come after me, and you'll watch over him and make sure he doesn't try anything."

"That's really why you want me involved, isn't it?" he sighed. "You really want to be executed and make sure that he doesn't try to stop it."

"Yes. So please, Cameron... do this for me, won't you? It's the last thing I'll ever ask of you."

He gazed at her for a moment before sighing resignedly. "Fine. I'll do it, all right?"

"Thank you, Cameron," she replied gratefully as he opened the door and picked up her suitcases, putting them inside and stepped into some nearby house shoes that belonged to him.

"Emilie dear, I'm going out for a few minutes," he called inside. "I'll be back in a little while."

Then he closed the door behind him and turned to her. "Let's go."

Christine nodded and turned, starting to walk down the steps of the front porch. Cameron followed her.

"Why are you doing this, out of curiousity?" he inquired as they fell into step with each other. "Why are you stopping your running away and finally turning yourself in?"

"Well, I'm rather tired of all the running, to be honest," she began. "Secondly, I don't want Marc to die because of me. I'm not willing to let him go because he wants to help me out."

"He's been that way all of his life, you know," he said. "For as long as I can remember, he's always been ready to sacrifice himself to help others. It's this good - natured thing he's always had."

She nodded. "I need to ask you a question, Cameron. It's about Marc."

"Sure. What about him?"

"Do you remember when you first moved down into my lair with me, shortly after you broke off your engagement with Emilie after our swordfight?"

"I do. What about it?"

"Well, the first night you were there, we were eating chicken drumsticks, and you were talking about a friend that you'd had in London who had moved to Paris about two years before, and how you and he always ate chicken drumsticks. And you spoke of how he had a big, empty house, and how he was rich and had a mother who reminded you of me, because she had a bad temper. Was that Marc?"

He laughed a little. "Yes, it was Marc."

She smiled a little, for some reason unknown even to her tears forming in her eyes. "I thought so," she choked. "So I knew of him before I knew him."

"You did, yes."

"Perhaps that's why I always liked him, because I understood who he was."

"I suppose so. Now let's go - I see the police station."

After a moment, they stepped inside the police station, and Cameron called out, "Draius! I have something for you that you'll like very much!"

Draius appeared then, and his eyes widened upon seeing Christine. "_Mademoiselle le fantôme!_" He turned to Cameron. "Did you catch her?"

"I did," Cameron lied, straightening himself up with pride. "I found her hiding in a homeless shelter."

"Very good, _Monsieur_ Luc," Draius priased. "I must say, you've been very helpful in capturing this criminal. I don't know how to repay you."

"Free Master Wellington. That's all I ask."

"It is done," Draius replied, shaking Cameron's hand and turning, walking down the hallway of cells that he'd just come from.

"Did I hear Cameron?" Christine and Cameron heard Marc's voice inquire rather drowsily.

"You did, _Monsieur_ Wellington," Draius replied, and they heard the sound of one of the cell doors being unlocked and opened, "and you are very fortunate that he is here, because he has just freed you."

"And how is that?" they heard Marc reply, alarm starting to come into his voice slightly.

"He caught your little masked lover!" Draius exclaimed joyously, laughing. "She's here, and she's going to be executed as soon as possible!"

"_What?_" There was complete and genuine alarm in Marc's voice now. "She's here and captured? I thought she was gone!"

"I'm here, _mon amour_," Christine called out. "I'm here, and you're being freed now."

After a moment, Marc came into view, rushing over to Christine and throwing his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.

"What are you doing here?" he gasped as he pulled away from her, his hands on her shoulders. "I told you to go to America and not come back!"

"I did go to America, but then I snatched the telegram that you sent Marian away from her. Then I came back."

"I told you not to!" he practically shouted, looking extremely annoyed and upset. "Damn it, Christine, I told you not to come back! Why didn't you listen? Why -"

She placed a finger on his lips, cutting off his ranting. "Hush... there's nothing more to say about it now. What matters is that you will live, and for God's sake, you will _not_ try to come and free me a second time."

"The hell I won't!" he spat. "You're mad if you think I'm going to let you die!"

"And _you're_ mad if you think I'm going to let _you_ die!" Christine shouted. "I won't let it happen; I won't!"

"But... I can't live without you," he said, his voice now soft and remorseful.

She sighed and stroked his brown hair absentmindedly. "As I can't live without you. But I'm going to die, so I won't live without you."

"I don't want you to die."

"And I don't want you to die as well. But one of us has to go, or else the police will never be satisfied."

"I know, and I don't want them to be!"

"Don't you see, Marc? Don't you understand? If one of us isn't executed, they'll never stop - they'll never stop chasing us and never stop looking for us. They'll never stop; not once. So I'm going to go, because I don't want to run all of my life."

"But you'll be running with me," he protested softly. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Of course it does. But be honest - do _you_ want to run all of your life, even if it's with me?"

"If it means keeping you alive and out of prison, then yes, I do want to run all of my life."

"Don't be ridculous," she retorted. "No one wants to constantly be on the run. Especially you - you're used to staying in one place all of the time. So go; leave me, and stay somewhere all of your life. Go back to London and live at Wellington Estates."

"But who will I live there with? Sarah won't stay there forever; she will marry someone and move with them eventually."

"Then find a nice woman to share your life with. Get married to her and have children... many, many children that are as beautiful and wonderful as you are."

"I've already found a nice woman," he whispered. "It's you. I don't want to marry or have children with anyone but you."

"But that can't happen. Even if we ran, when would we have time to settle down and start a family?"

"We'd manage. So come on... please, run with me!"

"I can't, as much as I want to. So please, go to London and meet and marry someone." She paused and turned to Draius. "I'm ready to go. Take me away."

"Very well," Draius replied, taking Christine by the arm and starting to walk towards the cell that Marc had just been in with her to imprison her.

Marc grabbed her wrist, stopping her. "No," he whispered, tears starting to fill his eyes. "No."

She sighed and turned back to him as Draius released her from his grip, and she pressed her forehead against Marc's, closing her eyes.

"I'll always love you," she whispered. "Don't forget me... and I'll be watching you from the Heaven you believe in or Hell; wherever I end up."

He nodded and pulled away from her after a moment, hesitating as he looked at her lovingly with tears in his eyes. "I love you, too."

After a moment, they kissed, holding it there for a moment.

When they broke apart, she stepped back, and Draius took hold of her arm once again.

"Goodbye," she whispered, and she and Draius turned and made their way down to the cell that she would be in, out of sight.

After staring after them for a moment, Marc turned away and started making his way out of the police station. He then noticed someone following him and turned around to see Cameron.

"_You_," Marc hissed. "You turned her in, didn't you? Didn't you?"

"I did," Cameron replied, nodding. "But only because she asked me to. Now I've been assigned to watch over you until she's gone."

"No. I refuse. I won't be around you any longer. I won't associate myself with the likes of you, Cameron Luc... never again!"

As Marc started to walk away, towards his house, Cameron stopped him by saying, "Well, it's what she wanted. Don't you want to respect her wishes?"

Marc turned back to Cameron. "Not if they involve _you_. So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go home and wallow in self - pity because of the fact that I can't help her escape because she doesn't want me to."

Then Marc turned on his heel and flounced off towards his house. Cameron followed him.

"Marc, I'm not asking you to like me," Cameron said, trying to persuade him. "I'm just asking you to come to my house with me and stay with Emilie and me. Just until she's... not around any more."

Marc sighed and stomped his foot as he turned back to his now ex - best friend. "I can't, Cameron. You turned traitor and betrayed Christine at the gala. And now you assisted her in turning herself in. You basically signed her death sentence. I can't be around you, knowing that."

"Come on, Marc. Please. It's the least I can do after what I've done."

"You could do something much better," Marc grumbled. "You could help get her out of all of this."

"No, I couldn't. I'd get in trouble, and she doesn't want anyone getting her out."

"Fine," Marc sighed. "I suppose I'll come with you, but don't expect me to like you or anything."

"I don't," Cameron replied, and they started walking to his house.


	41. Chapter 41: Concerning Christine

A week later, Marc sat in Cameron's house, drinking English tea with milk and reading that morning's newspaper, when Cameron entered the house, closing and locking the front door behind him.

"Where have _you_ been?" Marc murmured, not bothering to glance up from the paper.

"The police station."

"_What?_" Marc exclaimed, practically slamming his teacup down on the table and rising, throwing the paper down on the floor. "You went to the police station without me? You saw Christine?"

"Yes," Cameron replied, nodding and hanging up his coat and hat on "Why?"

"I can't believe that you went without me! How dare you!"

"Marc, there's no reason to be angry -"

"_Angry?_" Marc practically shouted. "I'm not angry - I'm _furious_!"

"All right, all right; calm down," Cameron sighed, walking into the parlor and holding his hands up in surrender. "Do you want to know what I found out, or are you going to continue yelling at me, like you've been doing most every day since you came here?"

"Fine," Marc grumbled, sitting down on the sofa, and Cameron sat down next to him. "What did you find out today?"

"Christine is fine, except for the fact that she's rather bruised - from Draius, I imagine."

Marc clenched his hands into fists. "Draius, that bastard," he growled. "I should have gotten rid of him while I was helping Christine escape!"

"Yes, well... moving on now. She's being executed a week from today, at dawn."

Marc nodded, bowing his head so that Cameron wouldn't see the tears filling his eyes. "All right," he whispered. "That's all I wanted to know. Thank you."

After a moment of hesitation, Cameron patted Marc's shoulder in a moment of sympathy. "I'm sorry."

As Cameron rose and started to walk towards the stairs, where his wife, Emilie, would be in their bedroom, Marc rose and spat furiously, "We need to talk - I'm not through with you, Cameron Luc!"

"What is there to talk about, Marc?" Cameron sighed, turning back to face Marc. He was getting tired of having to play the nice host with Marc, whose rage was completely directed at him. "What is it that you want to talk about so much?"

"Christine, and why you hate her so much."

Cameron rolled his eyes. Marc - always obsessively talking about Christine! He hadn't stopped since he'd arrived.

"All right, Marc," Cameron sighed, walking back into the parlor and sitting down in his chair by the sofa as Marc sat back down on the sofa. "Let's talk about Christine, since that's the only time you seem to shut up even slightly."

"Thank you," Marc sighed, relaxing slightly on the sofa. "Now... Christine told me some about your relationship with her and your time with her, but I still have a lot of unanswered questions that I never asked her, because I didn't want to talk about the two of you; I wanted to talk about the two of us. So my first question is what made you think that she was The Angel of Music?"

"Well, I imagine that she told you that she was singing in the chapel one day, and that I heard her," Cameron began, and Marc nodded. "I thought her voice was so beautiful, and I'd been told previously that The Angel of Music would be heard in a chapel - in my case, anyway. But her voice was so beautiful, and I didn't see her, so she _had_ to be The Angel of Music. So I asked her if she was The Angel, and she told me that she was."

"And you believed her."

"Like a fool, like the fool that I was when I was nineteen, I believed her, yes. So she taught me how to sing, and in three months, even _I_ was amazed with my progress and how I sounded." Cameron paused. "Then I started liking Emilie, which evidently made Christine jealous, because after I'd in the lead on night, Emilie invited me to dinner, and Christine abducted me because she didn't want to to get away."

"From her version, I got the impression that you went with her of your own free will."

Cameron reddened slightly and cleared his throat. "Yes, well - um, I might have been a little willing to go with her. But that's beside the point. So I went with her, I learned her real name, and I stayed with her for a night or two. Nothing happened between us, trust me."

"Don't worry; I'm prefectly aware that you didn't do anything with her," Marc replied, and Cameron's eyes widened in disbelief as he understood what Marc was implying.

"How did you find out what she looks like underneath the mask?" Marc continued, holding up a hand to silence Cameron from saying anything about what had happened between Christine and him about three or four months ago.

"Well, on the second day that I was with her, we were singing, and I moved close to her and placed a hand on her cheek. I didn't know that she loved me at the time, so I didn't know why, but her defenses were down after that. So then I removed the mask, and..." - Cameron shuddered - "I think you know what happened next."

"You reacted badly, and she grew angry with you."

"She did."

"Why did you shudder before you said, 'I think you know what happened next'?" Marc asked, raising an eyebrow. "Was it because of what happened because you removed the mask, or is it because you were repulsed with her face?"

"Well, I was repulsed with her face, of course," Cameron replied in a surprised tone. "I managed to learn how to handle Christine's little temper tantrums, the few that there were when I was with her, but her face - ugh! It's hideous!"

Enraged that someone would dare to talk about Christine in such a way, especially concerning her face, Marc rose, strode over to where Cameron sat, and struck Cameron across the face - hard.

"Ouch!" Cameron gasped, placing a hand on his now - red cheek. "What was that for?"

"_How dare you!_" Marc shouted, getting right up in Cameron's face as he let his temper fly without holding anything back. "Calling Christine 'hideous'... what the hell is wrong with you? I can't believe you - the nerve of saying something so horrible about Christine and what she looks like! No wonder you two didn't work out - it was doomed from the word 'Go'!"

Without saying a word, Cameron stared up at Marc, his eyes wide, his hand still on his cheek.

"She's beautiful, Cameron," Marc cried out angrily, tears starting to fill his eyes. "You don't even know! You don't! You don't know her like I do... you never will, and you'd never want to, anyway, because you can't help but think about her face!"

"Well, um - I - well, she _is_ hideous; you have to admit that," Cameron stammered meekly, putting his hands in front of his face to prepare himself from anticipated blows.

Marc smacked Cameron upside the head. "You're _so_ shallow, Cameron!" he shouted, continuing his rage. "No wonder you and Emilie get along so well... you're both so damned shallow, you're perfect for each other! I imagine that you never would have fallen for Emilie if she had the slightest trace of imperfection in her face!"

"Most - most likely."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Marc screeched, stomping his foot. "Have you forgotten what Marian taught us when we were children? Have you? Obviously, because then you and Christine _might_ have had a chance, because you would have either chosen to look past her face and ignore it or you would have chosen to look past it and thought it was beautiful, which _I_, personally, think it is! I didn't really look past it... I just thought that it was beautiful."

Marc's voice was now quiet, and he stared at the piano that was against the wall nearby. Cameron didn't say a word, not wanting more physical and verbal abuse from Marc than he'd already gotten, instead looking up at Marc, waiting for him to say more.

"I had plans for Christine and me," Marc said softly, his voice rather sad. "So many plans... I was going to ask her to marry me; I was going to have children with her... give her the love and the home that I could give her; give her everything she deserved. We were going to grow old together and watch our children and our children's children grow, hoping that they would be as happy as we were. I had so much planned..."

After a moment, Marc turned to Cameron, and Cameron saw that Marc's brown eyes were filled with tears as Marc finished, "But now I won't be able to do any of that, because she's been doomed to an early grave because of her past, which not a single damn person seems to be able to get over except me. I won't be able to do any of that... I'll have to die a lonely old man, reminiscing about what could have been... what _should_ have been... had the woman I loved lived. I won't be able to do any of that, and it's all your fault! You just couldn't let it go... you couldn't just shrug and leave us alone when you saw us at the gala!"

"I don't think you quite understand, Marc -" Cameron began.

"Understand what?" Marc snapped, his voice still quiet, cutting Cameron off. "That you hate her for some reason that no one except you - and maybe not even you - seems to understand?"

"No; that she is a murderer and a terrorist."

"_Was!_" Marc replied coldly. "_Was_ a murderer and a terrorist. All of that is behind her; she's a changed person. Sure, she still has a temper, but I was able to live with my mother's temper, so I was able to live with hers."

"What happened to your mother, Marcus?" Cameron asked, trying to sound casual. "I heard that she was murdered, and that you were a witness, and you chose not to press charges against the killer - who's the killer?"

"That's not important -"

"Yes, it is!" Cameron exclaimed, rising and pointing at Marc as he started laughing a little. "It _is_ important, because Christine killed your mother - now, don't look so surprised that I know; I find out what I want to know when I want to know it."

"Fine; Christine is the killer, all right?" Marc sighed. "But that doesn't matter, because this time the murder wasn't intentional. She was trying to defend me, because my mother had just found out that Christine was The Phantom and was going to turn her in, but I protested because I loved her. My mother was enraged that I was in love with a criminal, and she started beating me. I don't think she would have been able to kill me, but Christine's interference saved me from a far worse beating than I got."

Cameron sighed. "But she did kill intentionally before, and people did press charges - Emilie being one of them. Christine killed her sister, Marie; I imagine she told you that."

"Yes, she did. But why would Emilie press charges after she saved Christine from getting the life choked out of her by you?"

"Emilie is only a person, Marc. She may save her sister's killer from getting killed herself, but that doesn't mean that she's not angry about her sister getting killed and doesn't want justice."

Marc sighed, and tears filled his eyes again. "I don't care!" he shouted. "All I care about is that Christine is going to die, along with my plans for the future, and it's all _your_ fault!"

Then, without waiting for a reply, Marc ran out of the parlor to his bedroom down the hall, sobbing.

After a moment, Cameron sighed and sat down on the sofa, thinking about everything involving Christine.

Marc and Christine were in love - he knew that; he'd seen it for himself. He thought that he'd been doing his best friend a favor by getting rid of Christine, thereby saving him from possibly getting killed by Christine when she was one day in a fit of rage.

But now he saw that he hadn't done anyone a favor by turning Christine in and dooming her to execution... not even himself, and perhaps not even Emilie.

It was too late now, however; there was nothing he could do to stop Christine's death... was there?

After a moment, he sat up straight, an idea going through his head. It was a risky and dramatic idea, but at least it didn't involve risking himself in any way by trying to break Christine out of prison.

He then rose from the sofa and made his way upstairs to the bedroom that he shared with his wife of nearly six months.

When he opened the door, he saw his wife, Emilie Luc, lying on the bed, resting a hand on her bulging stomach - she was now almost five months pregnant - as she stared at the ceiling absentmindedly.

Emilie then looked at where he stood, smiling at him with the smile that he'd fallen in love with. "Yes?"

"Listen," Cameron said, walking into the bedroom and making his way to the bed, closing the door behind him. He sat on the side of the bed. "I was wondering about Marc and Christine..."

"Yes; I heard you and Marc having a rather nasty row downstairs."

"Yes. Well, I have a plan... I just want to make sure that it's all right by you, since Christine killed your sister."

Emilie smiled again. "I'm listening."


	42. Chapter 42: Royal Request

**A/N: Happy/Merry belated whatever - holidays - you - celebrate! Sorry it's been so long since I've updated!**

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Three days later, King George the Fifth, King of England, sat in his throne room alone - it was early in the morning, and his wife, Queen Mary, was still asleep.

He was staring up at the ceiling thouhgtfully when his thoughts were interrupted by hearing a knock on the throne room door.

He straightened himself in his chair and cleared his throat. "Enter!" he boomed in his His - Royal - Majesty voice.

The door opened, and Harold, the guard who guarded the throne room door, bowed and said in his deep voice, "My King, a Master Luc wishes to speak with you. He does not have an arranged audience, but he claims that it is an urgent matter which cannot be avoided."

The King cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, all right," he sighed after a moment. "Let him in, Harold."

Harold nodded and then stepped aside from the door, turning his head to the door and bowing while motioning towards the front of the throne room, where The King sat. "Enter, Master Luc."

Cameron Luc stepped inside, and Harold bowed his way out of the throne room, closing the door behind him.

"My King," Cameron said formally, bowing. "Thank you for allowing me to see you."

"Rise and come forward, Master Luc," King George commanded, and Cameron straightened himself and walked to the front of the throne room. "What is it that was so urgent that you had to speak with me immediately?"

"My King, you do, of course, remember Master Wellington, whom you met at the gala about... oh, what was it... a month ago?"

"Wellington?" the King echoed, looking thoughtful. "Yes, I do remember him... what of him? Is he in some sort of trouble?"

"No, Your Majesty. It is his courter, _Mademoiselle_ Christine Vasille of the Paris Vasilles. You remember her, of course."

"That polite masked girl that he brought with him? Yes, I remember her. It is such a shame that she is a dangerous criminal on the run. Isn't she dead now, though?"

"She will be soon if I don't do something to stop it, my King."

The King raised his eyebrows. "Oh? And what exactly are you going to do about it, Master Luc?"

"Well, my King, that is why I came to you," Cameron replied. "You see, if I go to Paris and try to have them pardon her, they won't, because I assisted in capturing her and bringing her into the custody of the French police. But if _you_ come and say that she has a full pardon by your authority, she'll be set free."

King George scoffed. "Why would we want her to be set free? She's a murderer and a terrorist! You, of all people, know this, Master Luc. I heard that you have quite an interesting history with _Mademoiselle_ Vasille."

Cameron bowed his head slightly. "That is true, Your Majesty. I know _Mademoiselle_ Vasille very well... even better than her own courter does, if I say so myself. I've known her for almost three years, while Master Wellington has only known her eight months."

"You obviously had something against her, since you are the one who announced who she was and had her turned in. Why are you now so intent on freeing her when she has wronged you?"

"_Mademoiselle_ Vasille has never truly wronged me. She has wronged my wife, for she killed my sister - in - law, but my wife agreed to let it go, if you would, when I proposed my idea to her."

The King nodded. "I see. But... why are you so intent to free someone who you clearly hated so much?"

Cameron sighed. "It's Master Wellington, Your Majesty. He loves _Mademoiselle_ Vasille dearly. He risked so much to try and prevent her from being imprisoned... he even had himself get caught and imprisoned by the French police. If she dies, I believe that he will die as well. She means the world to him. And I really don't hate _Mademoiselle_ Vasille."

"So you want me to pardon Europe's most dangerous criminal because your friend is in love with her? That rather seems like a silly excuse, Master Luc. I refuse."

"My King, imagine, just for a moment, that you are Master Wellington, and that The Queen, your wife, is _Mademoiselle_ Vasille. If The Queen was in danger and was going to be killed, wouldn't you want someone of authority to pardon her from her past crimes so that she would live?"

"I would, but I am not Master Wellington, and my wife is not _Mademoiselle_ Vasille. I will not pardon her."

Cameron bit his lip for a moment. "Your Majesty, I know you must think that if you pardoned _Mademoiselle_ Vasille, she would simply go back to her old ways and start killing and terrorizing once again. But you are wrong - I say that with the utmost respect, of course. _Mademoiselle_ Vasille has changed. Master Wellington has inspired her, by loving her, to be a better person than she was. She no longer wants to be The Phantom of the Opera. She didn't even try to resist when she was imprisoned in Paris. She has a good heart, and she is truly a good person. Before she became a wanted criminal, we were the best of friends, _Mademoiselle_ Vasille and I were. She once loved me, actually, but I broke her heart, and even after that, I led her on, thinking that we had a chance to be something that we never would be, and broke her heart at least two more times. Any hatred she feels towards people is because of how cruel I sometimes was to her. Please - reconsider. I would hate to see my friends suffer because of the past of one of them."

The King stroked his chin thoughtfully. "She's changed, you say? She wouldn't kill anyone any more if she was freed?"

"Yes, My King."

"Are you certain of it? Would you still say that if your own life depended on it?"

"I would, My King. In fact, if you freed her and she started killing and terrorizing again, then you could not only make sure that _she_ is executed, but you could make sure that _I_ am executed as well, because I persuaded you to free her when she was still dangerous." Cameron got down on his knees and clasped his hands together in an attitude of prayer. "Please, Your Majesty... have mercy on _Mademoiselle_ Vasille. Pardon her from her past wrongdoings, and Master Wellington, _Mademoiselle_ Vasille, and I will be forever grateful."

The King looked at Cameron thoughtfully for a moment. Then he finally rose and said, "All right, Master Luc. You get your wish. I shall free _Mademoiselle_ Vasille, but if she starts killing again, I shall have your head chopped off and placed on a pike to be put on display in my relics room."

Cameron's face lit up. "Truly, My King? You would do that?"

"I would, surprisingly. But I am serious about putting your head on display if she starts killing again."

"Of course you are, Your Majesty." Cameron rose, walked over to where The King was, took his hand, and kissed it. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you very much."

"Yes, yes," The King replied with a hint of impatience, waving Cameron away to take a step back, which he did. "Now, when is _Mademoiselle_ Vasille being executed? I imagine you know."

"She is being executed at noon in four days. If we are going to get there, I suggest we leave immediately. That way, we will actually be there a day early."

"Then I shall go and get ready immediately. Be ready to get on the ship to Paris in an hour and a half."

"Your Majesty, won't you be hounded by your loyal subjects, since they shall know who you are?"

"I have civilian clothing, Master Luc. Don't you think that I'm smart enough to think about those type of things whenever I want to go to town unbothered?"

"Certainly, Your Majesty. I shall be waiting for you down here."

"Very good. I shall return in and hour and a half," the King replied, walking out of the throne room and leaving Cameron there.

"Keep an eye on Master Luc," he ordered to Harold, "and see that James packs my bags. I am leaving for Paris with Master Luc."

"It shall be done, My King," Harold replied, bowing, and then King George made his way towards the huge staircase to go upstairs to the bedroom that he shared with his wife to pack.


	43. Chapter 43: The Pardon

Four days later, Christine sat in her cell at the police station is Paris, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed.

At noon today, she would be executed. It would all be over. There would be no more running, no more killing, no more deception, no more Cameron, no more Marc... she would be completely alone in Hell.

"Perhaps I'll see Father there," she thought to herself. "But I honestly doubt it. If anyone doesn't deserve to be in Hell, it's my father. He was too good a man for Hell... but I'm not good enough for Heaven. I don't deserve anything that I've gotten except what's to come... death and Hell."

She was quite sure that Marc wouldn't be there today. But why would he want to be? He probably had forgotten all about her already! What about her would he want to remember, anyway?

"Remember that I killed his mother," she mumbled aloud to herself. "That's all he'll remember about me, if he remembers anything at all."

"What are you babbling on about now, criminal?" she heard Draius's voice demand. "Talking about your brave lover, are you?"

She slowly opened her eyes and looked towards her cell door wearily to see Draius standing there. Then she said softly, "Yes, I am. But he isn't my lover any longer. He probably doesn't even remember me."

"I daresay there's nothing good about you to remember," he gloated. Then he pulled out his pocketwatch from the pocket of his pants and looked at it.

After a moment, he placed it back in his pocket and looked back over at her, grinning wickedly and proclaiming, "There's only an hour and a half left before you're executed! I'm just so thrilled that I'll be able to witness this event!"

"I'm sure you are," she sighed, closing her eyes again, "and go ahead and come in here and beat me for my sarcasm. It's not as though you can do anything more to me that will hurt me. I'm completely indifferent to pain now."

"You won't be when you drop with that noose around your neck. Isn't that ironic, _criminel_ - to be executed with something that you have used to kill others?"

"Indeed." She let out another sigh. "Just wake me up when it's time to go, all right? I'm too tired to stay awake."

"You'll be forever asleep in a very short time. I'd hate for you to miss your last precious hour and a half, so you really ought to stay awake. Although there's nothing really precious about the time that you're alive, is there? No."

"I suppose not. I imagine that _Monsieur_ Luc will be there. He's been waiting for this for so long."

"I know. Do you think your lover will be there?"

"Why the hell do you care?" she grumbled, rubbing her eyes. "Will you just leave me alone? I want to be alone for the rest of my life and all through my death I've always been alone... at least, since I was fourteen."

"Your father was the original _fantôme_, wasn't he?"

"_Yes!_"

"No need to be irritable. I'm just trying to make conversation until it's time to go."

"I don't want conversation. I want to be left alone. Don't you understand that at all, or are you so stupid that you can't grasp that concept?"

He raised his eyebrows. "All right, all right. I'll leave you alone, if that's what you so desire."

"Thank God," she muttered as he turned and walked away from her cell. "I was starting to get extremely annoyed with you."

Then, after a moment, she fell asleep, still leaning against the wall.

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"Criminal. _Mademoiselle le fantôme_. Wake up. _Criminel!_"

Christine felt herself being prodded awake ungently, and she stirred slightly and rubbed her eyes. "_Enceinte_," she mumbled, opening her eyes and looking up at Draius. "Oh. Hello."

"Time to go," Draius announced, grinning wickedly and grabbing her by the arm, causing her to stand up. Then he handcuffed her behind her back and led her out of the cell and out of the police station.

Christine, Draius, and all of the policemen who worked for Draius walked from the police station to a big house that Christine didn't recognize.

"Why are we here?" she inquired, cocking her visible eyebrow. "I thought we were going to the gallows."

"We are," Draius replied, "but we're going to take you there in a big cart that we use for criminals who are being executed. It's used for all of the crowd to see you, taunt you, throw things at you, and generally humiliate you."

"What fun," she said sarcastically. "I'm glad that the justice system finds entertainment in getting rid of criminals."

"We try," Draius replied, taking hold of Christine's white half - mask and pulling it off of her face. "Now get onto the cart that's right there."

"Why did you take my mask?"

"Well, I thought it would be obvious. It's removed to further humiliate you. That way, the crowd can see how ugly you are and throw things at you and taunt you even more. And we'll also sell it at auction. It will be worth a huge amount of money, and we'll use the money to buy more equipment for the station... perhaps even a police car or two."

She sighed and shrugged, walking over to the cart and stepping onto it. Then Draius climbed into the front of the cart, sat down, and grabbed the reins of the horse that would pull the cart along to the gallows.

"Yah!" Draius called out, tugging on the reins slightly, and then the horse started moving forward towards the gallows, causing Christine to sway slightly as the cart started moving towards her doom. The policemen that had come with Draius and Christine followed, walking behind or around the cart.

For a short time, there was no one in sight and no sounds being made, but after a while, Christine heard a man shouting, "She's coming! _Le Fantôme de l'Opera_ is coming!"

There was some shouting and cheering that started to rise, and soon Christine saw people dressed up in their nicest outfits standing nearby as the cart went through, shouting at Christine, throwing things at her, and taunting her.

"Death to The Phantom!"

"Justice must be served! Execute her!"

"Look at how ugly she is!"

"Oh, shut up, Darwin. Your mother is uglier!"

"No, she's not! _Le Fantôme de l'Opera_ is much uglier! You ugly thing! _Die!_"

Christine bit her lip and swallowed hard. This was very difficult to have to put up with. She had been humiliated before, but not like this. It hadn't even been this bad when Cameron had removed her mask in front of the audience at the Opera during _Genius's Mistake_. No one had shouted insults at her; they had simply screamed in terror.

"It will all be over soon," she thought to herself reassuringly. "Soon you'll be dead, and no one will make fun of you in Hell. They're all sharing the same fate, and they're most likely just as hideous as you are."

After a while, the cart that Christine was on came to the end of its trip, and Christine found herself staring at the gallows, the site of her death.

She stepped off of the cart as gracefully as possible, not bothering to try to run, especially when she caught sight of Cameron Luc, who was standing in the very front row of the crowd. She knew that if she tried to run, he would simply chase after her, and her chances of him not catching her were incredibly slim.

Cameron nodded to her, and she nodded back, turning and walking towards the steps of the gallows as Draius placed a hand on her arm and led her ever closer to her execution.

When she was on the gallows, she stood there, and nearby drummers started playing the typical song that drummers played at hangings of criminals. Then a man opened a piece of parchment and started reading Christine's death decree.

"_Le Fantôme de l'Opera_, be it known that you..."

Christine stopped listening and muttered to herself, "I have a name, you fool. It's Christine Vasille. I'm just as normal as anyone else living on this planet. It just so happens that I'm a dangerous criminal who has the ugliest face in the universe."

"So you are, on this day, to be hung by the neck until dead," the man reading the decree finished, closing the piece of parchment. "May God have mercy on your soul."

At any other time and on any other occasion, Christine would have said something about there not being such a thing as God, and that if there was a God, she didn't believe in Him, but she kept silent, feeling a lump start to rise in her throat.

The undertaker stepped up to Christine, grabbed the rope with the noose around the end of it, and placed it around Christine's neck, tightening it.

"This is it," he taunted to her, then took a step back, wrapping a hand around the lever that would be pulled to open the door that Christine was standing on, causing her to drop and suddenly stop, killing her.

The drummers that were playing played the long drumroll, and Christine closed her eyes and swallowed hard, feeling a single tear fall out of one eye and fall down her deformed cheek.

"This is it," she thought to herself. "Goodbye, Cameron. Goodbye, Emilie. Goodbye, Marc... goodbye."

Just as the undertaker was about to pull the lever, there was a shout that came from the crowd.

"Wait! Please, don't!"

Christine opened her eyes, the undertaker let out a grunt of annoyance and let go of the lever, and an annoyed murmur went through the crowd that had come to watch Christine die.

After a moment, Cameron Luc and a hooded figure stepped up to the gallows, stepping next to Christine.

Christine's eyes widened in disbelief. "_Cameron?_ You, of all people, are telling them to stop my execution? What cruel prank have you got in store?"

Cameron looked at Christine and actually smiled a genuine smile at her for the first time in a long time, since before the disaster at the Opera Populaire, and there was no sign of disgust or revulsion at seeing her unmasked face on his face or in his eyes. "Just wait and see, _mon ami_."

Christine was even more bewildered. He'd just called her 'my friend'! What on Earth was going on?

Then the hooded figure that had been standing next to Cameron and removed their hood, and Christine let out a gasp of shock when she saw who it was.

_It was King George the Fifth, the King of England!_

"Silence in respect to King George the Fifth, King of England!" Cameron shouted, and the crowd quieted in stunned disbelief. There was a king in their presence - a real king!

"Thank you," King George began, nodding to the crowd. "Now, it seems that there is a situation here. A criminal, a notorious criminal, is about to be executed, and justice will be served. Am I correct?"

"You are correct!" a man shouted from the crowd. "We want her dead!"

"Yes, we do!" the crowd shouted in agreement in chorus.

The King raised his hands for silence, and the crowd quieted down again. "All right. Now, you say that justice must be served through this criminal's execution. But is that exactly right? I think not. The best way to have justice be served is not to kill this young woman, but to let her go, as long as she agrees not to do anyone any harm again."

Christine's eyes widened. She was dreaming - this wouldn't be happening in real life! She closed her eyes and squeezed them tightly, silently willing herself to wake up from this dream that would never actually occur in a million years.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she opened her eyes to see that she was still at the gallows, the noose tied around her neck, and Cameron was looking at her concernedly as King George continued speaking to the crowd.

"Are you all right?" Cameron asked her.

She nodded incredulously, amazed that this was really happening and that she was supposedly about to be pardoned, and that Cameron was actually being nice to her.

"What do you think of pardoning this young woman?" King George asked the crowd.

"No!" the crowd shouted in chorus.

"Cameron, make him stop," Christine said quietly. "They all want me dead. It's all right; I'm content with my fate."

"You may be, but there are others who aren't," Cameron replied. "Let him speak."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think that you are all being quite hypocritical," King George said to the protesting crowd who were starting to get antsy waiting for Christine's death. "Who among you has never wronged anyone? Perhaps you have never killed anyone, or terrorized anyone, as this young woman that you call The Phantom of the Opera has, but who among you has never done a single thing wrong in your entire lifetime? I know that I have wronged people, but I am still alive, and I am the ruler of an entire country."

The crowd was silent. No one knew what to say.

"If any of you has never done wrong at all, then step forward and speak. But if you've done something wrong in your life, either admit it and let this young woman be pardoned, or keep protesting, saying that she must be executed, and let yourself be executed for what you've done wrong as well, since that seems to be the general opinion of what should happen to those who have done wrong."

Silence.

"There is a man who is not among us today who loves this young woman" - King George pointed to Christine - "with all of his heart, and you about to condemn her to death. How would _you_ feel if the one you loved was being executed for their past crimes? You would want them to be pardoned, would you not?"

"I would!" a man called out, and the crowd murmured in agreement.

"You see? So don't have this young woman executed. Let her go on with her life, and let her live with the man she loves. As long as she is done with her life of crime..."

The King turned back towards Christine and asked quietly, "You _are_, aren't you, _Mademoiselle_ Vasille?"

Christine nodded. "Yes, I am."

The King turned back to the crowd and continued, "Which she is, then I have no objection to pardoning her today. What about the rest of you?"

"Yes!" a woman shouted, and then the crowd started shouting in chorus.

"Pardon! Pardon! Pardon!"

"All right!" King George replied, raising his hands to silence the crowd.

"Release her," he then commanded when the crowd was quiet, "and for God's sake, give her back her mask and her dignity."

As the undertaker stepped forward and removed the noose from Christine's neck, starting to remove her handcuffs, Draius finally stepped forward angrily. Christine was surprised that he hadn't before.

"Now, see here!" Draius exclaimed. "That criminal is _my_ property! I've been looking for her for almost seven months, and now that I've found her, she's going to be executed!"

"I rather think not, Chief Draius," King George replied calmly, pulling a folded piece of parchment out of the pocket of the trousers that he was wearing and unfolding it, handing it to Draius. "If you would read that, sir."

Draius looked at the parchment for a moment and then started reading. "Be it known that by the power vested in me, King George the Fifth, King of England, Mlle. Christine Vasille is hereby pardoned from her past crimes on this day, November thirteenth, 1926."

Christine let out a soft gasp of realization. She hadn't been keeping track of time, so she hadn't remembered, but now she did - today was her seventeenth birthday. What a nice birthday present, to be pardoned and not be executed!

After staring at the declaration for another moment, a miffed Draius handed the decree back to King George. "Fine. But if she commits another crime, big or small -"

"She is mine to deal with," King George cut in. "Master Luc here and I made a deal that if she did anything wrong again, she would be executed in England, as well as Master Luc himself. That was the deal that was made when Master Luc was requesting that I pardon _Mademoiselle_ Vasille."

"Cameron!" Christine exclaimed. "You wanted him to pardon me?"

"Indeed he did," King George replied. "He was quite convincing. He was rather desperate and determined that you be pardoned. He was convincing, so I agreed, and here we are."

Christine looked at Cameron and really smiled at him. "Thank you so much, Cameron. You're a wonderful friend."

Cameron shrugged. "It was really for Marc." He turned to the undertaker. "Uncuff her, would you?"

The undertaker let out a grunt and uncuffed Christine. Then Christine rubbed her sore wrists for a moment and then stepped forward, embracing Cameron for a short moment.

"Thank you, Cameron," Christine said.

"You're welcome," Cameron replied. Then he turned to Draius. "Chief Draius, I believe that you have something that belongs to my friend here."

Draius let out a sigh and pulled Christine's white half - mask out of his saddlebag that he'd been carrying around with him, holding it out to Christine. "There. Take it. It probably wouldn't have made much money at auction, anyway."

"Thank you," Christine replied, taking the mask from Draius and putting it back on her face. Then she let out a sigh of relief - she wasn't exposed any more.

"Well, I'd best be on my way back to England now," King George said. "Take care of yourself, _Mademoiselle_ Vasille."

"I will, King George," Christine said, stepping forward and kissing King George's hand. "Thank you so much, and I promise that I won't be of any further trouble to you."

"I'm sure you won't," The King replied. "I do, however, expect to see you and your courter at my next gala. I shall be sending out invitations soon."

"I wouldn't dream of missing it," Christine replied, curtsying. "I look forward to seeing you soon."

The King nodded to Cameron, Christine, and Draius, and then made his way down the gallows, walking through the crowd, which parted for him, and making his way out of sight.

After a moment, Draius turned to Cameron and Christine and nodded, grunting slightly and then leaving the gallows, heading back towards the police station.

When Draius was out of sight, the crowd and the undertaker started making their way toward their homes, and Cameron turned to Christine and smiled. "Well, there is a certain British man who is waiting for you at my house. Shall we go to him?"

Christine smiled back at him and nodded, wrapping her cloak, which she'd been wearing the entire time, tightly around her. "Yes, let's."

"My car is just behind that building," he said, pointing towards a building, and then they walked down from the gallows and headed towards the building that he had pointed at.

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"I apologize for my smell," Christine said as she and Cameron were in Cameron's car, driving towards his house. "I haven't been allowed to bathe. The policemen have no respect for criminals, especially criminals like me."

"It's all right," Cameron replied, smiling. "I rather like the smell of a cell in a police station."

She laughed a little. Then she became serious again and said, "Cameron, I really can't thank you enough for convincing King George to pardon me and not have me be executed."

"You're welcome. I'm sure it was a nice birthday present for you."

Her eyes widened. "Cameron, you actually remember that?"

"Of course I do. I always bought you presents."

"You did indeed. And yes, it was a nice birthday present to be saved. It's saving a lot," she added softly, more to herself than to him. "I'll have to pay you back for all of this."

"There's no need. I just knew that Marc would be miserable without you. He's rather been quite irritable since you came back and turned yourself in - or I turned you in; whatever you prefer to say."

She smiled. "I'm sure he has. And I really am glad that you got me out of there. I didn't want to be killed."

"I'm sure you didn't, but I thought you said that you didn't want to keep running, and that you were content with what was going to happen to you."

"I didn't want to keep running, but I wasn't content. I lied about that. Especially after..." She glanced at him for a moment, then looked away, and her voice trailed off.

"Especially after what?" he asked curiously, looking off of the road for a moment to give her a quick glance.

She was silent for a moment, looking out the window and biting her lower lip. Then she turned to him and said softly, "You were entirely the last person that I intended to tell, especially since I wasn't going to tell anyone at all, but... since you've asked, and you saved me, I suppose it's really only fair." She paused. "Things have changed, Cameron. I'm not the only one that you saved today."

He nodded. "Oh, I see. You're saying that I saved Marc, too, right, because he most likely would have killed himself out of grief?"

"No."

He raised his eyebrows and looked at her for a moment before looking at the road again. "What are you talking about, Christine?"

She hesitated, then adjusted her cloak so that it wasn't wrapped around her any more to reveal that her dress was tight around her waist and stomach.

"How is your dress tight on you? I'd have thought that you'd lose weight after being starved."

"It's not because I've been eating, Cameron," she said softly. "I haven't eaten in two weeks. Like I already said, I'm not the only one that you saved today."

She placed a hand on her stomach, where Marc's child was growing within her.

He saw her movement, and his jaw dropped open in realization. Then he steered his car to the side of the road and stopped, turning to look at her in disbelief.

"I don't believe it," he murmured incredulously. "I bloody can't believe it... I didn't know that he was being serious..."

"Marc told you that he and I have -"

"Not in exact terms, but he implied it. I just couldn't believe it... but there's your proof right there. The only one who's had a child without _that_ is Mary."

"If you believe in that, yes," she replied with a shrug.

He shook his head. "Wow. Amazing. Marc will... he'll be ecstatic!"

"You think he will?" she inquired, starting to look rather worried. "I didn't think that he would; I thought he'd be appalled -"

"If he was really worried about that, then he wouldn't have done anything in the first place. He won't be appalled in the least bit. He loves you, and he'll love that child."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Good."

"Now, let's go," he said, starting to drive the car back onto the road towards his house again. "Now he'll be even more excited to see you! I can't wait to see the look on his face!"

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**A/N: Hooray! -claps- I finally got to write about the pregnancy! I've been waiting for that since I started this story! Aren't you guys ecstatic? I know I am! And that chapter was _really_ long! -takes a deep breath- -wipes sweat off of forehead-  
**


	44. Chapter 44: Plans

A few minutes later, Cameron and Christine stepped out of Cameron's car in front of his house.

"Linger behind me a bit," Cameron said to Christine, who had wrapped her cloak around herself again, trying to hide her pregnancy from the people who were walking nearby. "I'll go in and let him see me, and then I'll let him see you. It shall be a lovely surprise - one of two."

Christine smiled shyly; she knew what he was talking about. "Yes."

He turned back to the door, then pulled out his key, stuck it in the keyhole, and opened and unlocked the door, stepping inside. Christine followed him.

"He ought to be in the parlor, so no worries about him seeing you before it's time," he said, closing and locking the door behind her. Then he turned back in the general direction of the parlor. "I'm back."

He then walked into the parlor to find Marc sitting on the sofa, staring off into space.

After staring at nothing in general for another moment, Marc turned to Cameron and looked at him rather sadly for a moment; he knew that Cameron had just come from Christine's execution.

"Did she suffer?" Marc asked quietly.

Cameron placed a hand behind his back and motioned Christine forward with it, and she stepped into the parlor.

"Why don't you ask me yourself?" she asked in reply.

Marc stared at Christine in disbelief, his jaw hanging down. Tears filled his eyes. "Christine?" he whispered incredulously. "Christine, is it really you? Is it really you, or are you an illusion or a ghost?"

"I'm here, _mon amour_... in the flesh and blood."

After the lovers had stared at each other for another moment, Christine couldn't take it any more, and she walked over to where Marc sat, getting down on her knees so that she was more at his level and throwing her arms around him, a lump starting to rise in her throat, keeping her stomach away slightly because she didn't want to reveal her pregnancy to Marc just yet.

At feeling Christine's arms around him, clear evidence that she was still alive and was really there, Marc started to sob. "Oh, Christine!"

"Oh, Marc," Christine cried out, starting to cry as well, "I thought I'd never see you again!"

After a moment, the two finally broke apart, and Marc asked, wiping his eyes, "How did you get out? How are you still here?"

"Cameron had everything to do with all events involving my arrests and my pardon," Christine replied with a short laugh, motioning to Cameron. "He had King George pardon me."

Marc's eyes widened. "_What?_" He turned to Cameron. "Cameron, is this true?"

"Indeed it is," Cameron replied, nodding and smiling at Marc. "I didn't want to see you grow to be a miserable old man who yelled at me all the time because it was my fault that the woman he loved died."

Marc grinned and rose, walking over to Cameron and embracing him tightly. "Thank you," he whispered gratefully.

"Certainly," Cameron replied, and then the friends broke apart.

Marc extended his hand to Cameron. "Friends?" he offered.

"Friends," Cameron agreed, taking Marc's hand in his and shaking it. Then he leaned in close to Marc and murmured in his ear, "Now, my friend, I believe you had some plans that can now be fulfilled. Go to her, mate."

Marc let go of Cameron's hand and turned back to Christine, who had been standing there, watching the friends become friends again, walking over to her.

"Christine," Marc began, taking Christine's hands in his, "I wanted to ask you so much earlier, at the gala, but we rather had things messed up for us. But I'm asking you now."

Cameron smiled knowingly as Marc got down on his knees, reaching into his pants pocket while still holding onto Christine's left hand with his left hand. Then he pulled a small velvet box out of his pants pocket. He opened it to reveal a ring with a gold band and a single glittering diamond.

Christine let out a gasp. Was he...

"Christine Elizabeth Vasille, will you marry me?"

Christine stared at Marc, stunned. He was asking to marry her! This day was just getting better and better by the minute!

"Yes," she finally replied, nodding and smiling at him. "Yes."

Marc smiled, then pulled the ring out of the box and slipped it onto her left ring finger. Then he stood up, taking his face in her hands and looking deeply into her eyes. "I love you, Christine."

"I love you, too," she replied, and they kissed, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, and she linked her hands behind his neck. Cameron applauded and smiled.

As Marc and Christine were pulled ever closer together by Marc's arms pulling on Christine, their stomachs touched, and he could feel the slight bump that was his child.

He then pulled away from her. "What was that that I just felt?" he exclaimed. "How on Earth did you gain weight while you were in prison? I thought they starved their prisoners."

She smiled shyly. "They do." She took his hands in hers and placed them on her stomach. "Marc... we're going to have a child."

He stared at her incredulously, his jaw dropped open in disbelief. "_Really?_" he whispered.

She nodded. "Yes. Yes, we are."

He stared at his fiancee, now also the mother of his child, for another moment, and then let out a shout of joy and picked her up in his arms, spinning her around and laughing.

He spun her several times before placing her back down on her feet, taking her face in his hands and exclaiming, "Oh, darling, that's fantastic! Wow... a child... a wedding and a child!"

She smiled at him. "Yes... we'd better get married as soon as possible, then. I'm about four or five months in now, so we need to marry before the birth. No child of yours or mine is going to be illegitimate."

"Of course not," he agreed. Then he kissed her, holding it there for quite some time.

When they broke apart, Marc turned to Cameron and said, "Cameron, how about you get Emilie down here, and she can be involved as we plan the wedding."

"Oh, God, I don't want to plan the wedding _now_," Christine protested before Cameron could reply. "I'm a mess... I need to bathe, and I need some new, clean clothes. Then we can start planning the wedding."

"I personally think you look and smell lovely, but if you wish to bathe, then I'm sure Cameron and Emilie won't mind if you use their bathroom."

"I won't mind," Cameron said. "I'll go upstairs and get you one of Emilie's dresses. I'm sure she won't mind."

Christine raised her eyebrows. "What did you do with my luggage, Cameron? The luggage that I brought with me when I turned myself in."

"Oh... it's in that door right there," Cameron replied, pointing down the hall to a door, "and the bathroom is the door right next to it."

Christine nodded, then made her way down the hall, getting her luggage out of the door that Cameron had specified and then going into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, to bathe.

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"It should be simple," Marc declared about an hour and a half later as he, Christine, Cameron, and Emilie Luc, Cameron's wife, sat in the parlor, drinking Russian tea with lemon that Christine had made and discussing his and Christine's wedding. "Immediate family and close friends only, which means that you're invited, Cameron. You'll be the best man."

Cameron grinned. "Wonderful. I've never been to a wedding except my own before."

"Am I invited as well?" Emilie asked, glancing towards Christine, who had, much to her own surprise, been nice to her since she'd come down from her nap upstairs.

Christine nodded and smiled. "Don't be ridiculous, Emilie. You're Cameron's wife, aren't you? Of course you're invited. I have absolutely nothing against you."

Emilie smiled back at Christine. "Thank you."

"All right," Marc said. "So Cameron is the best man. Who is the maid of honor?"

Christine looked thoughtful. "Well, unfortunately for Cameron, Emilie can't be, because she's married. The maid of honor is unmarried. How about... Sarah?"

"Okay," Marc replied. "We'll have to ask her about that, but I'm sure she won't object. So we have a best man and a possible maid of honor. We have the bride and groom. Now other friends and family..."

As Marc, Cameron, and Emilie started discussing the wedding guests on Marc's side of the soon - to - be Vasille - Wellington family, Christine sat silently, not really paying attention. Without thinking, she took ahold of the tiny gold locket that Erik had given her when she was eight - it seemed. She opened it and looked at her parents.

Her beautiful mother, Christine, whom she had been named after and whom she had never known, stared back at her daughter, a smile on her lovely face. Christine wasn't surprised that her father had fallen in love with her mother, because she had been beautiful. She also often wished that she had inherited her mother's face instead of her father's. Life would have been much easier for her that way.

She then glanced at her masked father, who had the same facial feautres as she did - she was a younger, female version of him. The black hair was slicked back, the grey - green eyes shone brightly, and a tight - lipped smile spread across his masked face. Christine was like her father in almost every imaginable way - same facial features, same attitude about their outward appearances, same violent temper.

As she looked into her father's eyes for a moment, a sudden thought came to her. She let out a gasp of realization, tears filling her eyes.

Marc glanced at his fiancee, who was sitting next to him, and noticed her tearful expression. "Whatever is the matter, love?" he exclaimed.

She looked at him. "Marc," she whispered, "I just realized... I don't have a father to give me away."

"Oh, Christine, I'm so sorry!" he gasped, wrapping his arms around her in a gentle embrace. "I completely forgot until just now... do you have someone else who could attend?"

She considered as they broke apart and she wiped her eyes. "Well, I have a friend here in Paris. He's the one that I told you a little bit about, you know. He was a father figure to me when my father died. I could invite him."

"Indeed you could," Marc agreed.

After a moment, Cameron and Emilie smiled. "You're talking about Jannes, aren't you?" Cameron asked Christine.

Christine nodded. "Yes." She turned to Marc. "So we could invite him, couldn't we? I know where he lives, so he wouldn't be hard to find... I don't think he's gone anywhere, but I haven't seen him in seven months, so I wouldn't really know."

"Where does he live?"

"In an apartment in the Rue de Rivoli." Christine looked at Marc beseechingly. "Could we go tonight? After supper, perhaps?"

Marc considered for a moment. "Well, I suppose so. We'll go tonight after supper."

Christine grinned and threw her arms around Marc. "Oh, thank you, Marc! Oh, I just know that he'll be so excited to see me!"


	45. Chapter 45: Reunion

**A/N: Sorry it's been a while since I've updated!**

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The next evening, Francois Jannes walked down the street hurriedly, rushing to get to his apartment in the Rue de Rivoli from the Opera Populaire. It was late, and it had been a long and exhausting day.

He was worried about Christine. Of course, he was always worried about Christine, but he was especially now.

He hadn't seen or heard from her in about eight months, ever since the night of _Genius's Mistake_, her opera, and the night she'd kidnapped Cameron Luc. He'd returned to her lair almost every day to see if she was there, but she never had. He'd read numerous newspaper articles about her escapes, captures, and pardon. He'd then tried to find her after that, but he hadn't had any luck. He knew that she was safe, however, and that was what really mattered to him.

As he made his way upstairs and was near his apartment doorway, he tripped on one of the steps that had a loose stone. Cursing quietly, he stood up and brushed himself off.

"You shouldn't walk around dark apartments alone at night, _Monsieur_ Jannes," a soft, accented voice said from the nearby shadows.

Francois jolted and spun around repeatedly, looking around the apartment doorway. It was pitch black except for the lamppost that was several blocks away, and he could hardly see.

"Who's there?" he demanded. "Show yourself!"

There was a laugh. "Be careful, _monsieur_... there are many dangerous people around. I hear that the worst come out at night... ghosts, witches... phantoms."

_Phantoms_... now Francois recognized the voice. It hadn't spoken to him in eight months, but he still remembered the voice and all the things it had said to him.

He peered into the darkness of the doorway and whispered, "Christine? Christine, is that you?"

A figure, fully clothed in black, stepped out to where Francois could see her, and removed her hood. The young woman had black hair that went down to her shoulders, grey - green eyes, and, most notably, a white half - mask on the right side of her face. The Phantom of the Opera had met the scene shifter once again.

Christine smiled at her friend. "Hello, Francois."

"_Christine!_" Francois exclaimed joyously, stepping forward and embracing her, kissing the top of her head. They hugged for a long time.

When they broke apart, he demanded, "Where have you been, _chéri_? I've been worried sick about you!"

"I've been in London, mostly," she replied, "but I've been here in Paris several times, two for my captures and one just because I wanted to come back." She smiled to herself. "Francois, I've met someone... a man."

"Did you really?" he replied excitedly, thrilled that the illusion of a romance with Cameron Luc had vanished from Christine's head. "Oh, Christine, that's wonderful! Does he feel the same about you?"

"He actually felt that way about me first." She smiled. "But yes, he loves me, and I love him. Would you like to meet him?"

"Certainly. Where is he?"

She pointed behind her to the doorway and then turned in that direction. "All right, _mon amour_... come out now."

A young man who appeared to be in his twenties with brown hair and brown eyes stepped out of the shadows and took Chrisstine's hand in his, interlacing their fingers, as he stepped next to her.

"Yes?" Marc inquired to Christine.

She motioned to Francois. "Marc, this is my friend, _Monsieur_ Francois Jannes." She turned to Francois. "Francois, this is my fiance, _Monsieur_ Marcus Wellington, called Marc for short."

"_Fiance?_" Francois gasped, his jaw dropping open. "Christine!"

"Yes," Marc replied, beaming and kissing Christine on the top of her head. "I just proposed to her yesterday, and she agreed." He extended his hand to Francois. "It's a pleasure to meet you, _Monsieur_ Jannes."

"Please, call me Francois," Francois said, taking Marc's hand in his and shaking it. "And it's nice to meet you as well, Marc. It's nice to hear that I'm not the only one in the world who cares for Christine. I trust you'll take good care of her when you wed."

"I will," Marc replied. "We actually came to invite you to the wedding."

"Oh?" Francois inquired, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," Christine cut in, starting to shiver. "It's getting cold out here, so could we continue this conversation inside your apartment?"

"Certainly," Francois replied, turning to his door, unlocking it with his key, opening it, and stepping inside. Then he closed and locked the door when Christine and Marc had stepped in.

"Would you like me to make tea while you two men get to know each other more?" Christine asked.

"That sounds wonderful," Marc replied with a smile at his beloved, leaning closer to her and kissing her gently. "Go ahead, and Francois and I will speak to each other, talking about how wonderful and beautiful you are."

She blushed slightly and then turned to Francois. "Francois, is it all right if I make tea with your things?"

"Yes, dear. Go on ahead, and Marc and I will talk in the parlor."

She nodded and smiled at the two, and then the two men walked into the parlor and sat down, Marc sitting on the sofa and Francois sitting in his chair. Then Christine turned her back to them and removed her cloak, not knowing how Francois would react to seeing that she was pregnant just yet. After all, he'd just learned that she was engaged. That was enough surprises until she served tea, when she wouldn't exactly be able to hide her stomach from Francois.

As she then walked into the kitchen and out of sight, Francois said to Marc, "Well, Marc... what are your intentions?"

"What do you mean, Francois?"

"I mean what are your plans? After you marry, do you intend to have children?"

Marc was about to reply that they were already expecting a child, since he knew that Francois hadn't seen Christine's bump, but then he decided that it would sound better coming from Christine, since he knew her better, and instead replied, "Yes. I plan on having several children with Christine."

"Are you going to break her heart? Because if you are, you need to just stand up and leave my apartment right now, because I won't stand to see my friend toyed with by a man again."

"Oh, no... I wouldn't dream of hurting Christine. She means the world to me. She hasn't had the chance to tell you yet, Francois, but Christine killed my mother about five months ago."

Francois's eyes widened, and he covered his mouth with his hand. "Oh, my God... I am so sorry, Marc... she has a horrid temper, which I'm sure you know."

"Well, my mother was abusing me, and Christine couldn't take it any more, so she choked her with her bare hands. She saved me from a far worse beating then I got, which I'm grateful for, and I'm not angry at her for it. I love her. I love her so much that I've completely ignored the fact that she killed my mother, completely forgotten about who she was before we met, and broken her out of jail after she was imprisoned the first time."

"So you're the one that helped her get out? The one that the police captured and were going to execute because he wouldn't reveal where she'd gone?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you seem to be a good man so far. Tell me, Marc, have you seen what lies beneath Christine's mask?"

"I have," Marc replied, nodding.

"And what do you think of it?" Francois asked, then holding his breath to see if this man whom Christine loved was really who she thought he was.

Marc smiled a little and shook his head. "Francois, I know you're expecting me to say that it's hideous and that I hate it. Right?"

"Well, I must admit that it wouldn't surprise me. Young men like you are very shallow these days - or, at least, the one young man who has been involved with Christine romantically besides you was very shallow."

"I try not to be shallow. I had a governess who taught me to accept people for who they were and to forget about their pasts and thhink about their present and futures. I personally think that Christine's deformity makes her beautiful - she looks more beautiful without the mask than she does with the mask."

"Hmm," Francois replied. "Well, all right, then... those are all the questions that I can think to ask you at the moment. I'll ask you more when I come up with them."

Marc was about to reply, but Christine then walked through the swinging door that connected the kitchen to the parlor, carrying a tray that had three teacups on saucers, a pot of Russian tea, several whole lemons, a knife, sugar, milk, and cream. The tray was in front of her bump, so Francois still didn't know that she was pregnant.

She then poured tea into each of the teacups and handed two of them to Marc and Francois. Then the three of them fixed their tea, sticking in a slice of lemon each and then adding sugar, milk, or cream into their tea.

When Christine had fixed her tea, she rose - she had been kneeling as she had been making her tea - and walked over to the sofa, sitting next to Marc.

Francois sat silently, drinking his tea and observing the engaged couple, for several minutes, watching them kiss, hug, lean against each other, and murmur sweet words of love to each other. Then his eyes happened to stray to Christine's stomach. When he saw her bump, he pulled his teacup away from his mouth and spewed tea across the parlor, practically choking on his tea.

"What the hell is that, Christine?" Francois demanded, pointing at her stomach. "Tell me that you have just been gaining weight excessively!"

"All right, Francois," Christine replied. "I have just been gaining weight excessively."

Francois's eyes narrowed into slits. "I didn't mean it literally. What is that? Is it fat or something else?"

Christine smiled and placed her teacup down on the table, and then she and Marc placed their hands on her stomach, Marc using only one hand because he was holding his tea in the other hand.

"Francois, Marc and I are expecting a child," Christine said, beaming with happiness. "I'm four months pregnant. Isn't that exciting? I'm going to be a normal human being - or, at least, as normal as I can be - and have a real home and a real husband and a real child - a real family and a real life!"

"You stupid child!" Francois shouted, rising from his chair angrily and throwing his teacup and saucer down on the floor, causing them to break. "What do you think you are doing? You're giving yourself to someone that you've known for however long and who could break your heart without a second thought! You'll be sorry when he abandons you and your child! Then who will you turn to, Christine? Me? I think not. I'm done being your convenient friend that you run to whenever something is going wrong in your life! _Done!_"

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, shocked that he was so angry at what was causing her so much happiness. He'd been so happy to see her, and now he was shouting at her and saying that her decisions were stupid and that Marc would abandon her and their child.

After a moment, she walked away from Marc, who had placed his hands on her shoulders in a reassuring manner, and knelt down by Francois's feet, picking up the pieces of broken china. Then she rose with some difficulty and walked into the kitchen, throwing away the china.

When she came back into the parlor, she took her teacup and Marc's teacup and went into the kitchen, rinsing them off with water to clean them.

She came back into the parlor and brushed past Francois without a word, walking over to Marc and pointing towards the door without a word, signaling that they were going to leave. Marc nodded and walked out of the parlor with her, and they got their cloaks from the coat rack and put them on.

They walked to the door and were about to walk out when Christine turned to Francois, who was still standing in the parlor, and said to him in a monotonous voice, "I was going to ask you to give me away at my wedding... my father is dead, so he can't do it, you know. And you're the closest thing to a father I have, so I thought I would ask, and maybe you would say yes. But now I'm not going to, because I thought that you were going to be happy for me when I showed you that I was expecting a child. And since you're not, then you can't pretend to be my father and give me away at my wedding. My father might not completely approve of the fact that I was expecting a child before I was married, but he wouldn't shout at me that I'm being stupid and that I'm going to be abandoned with no one to help me or my child. And even if I was going to be abandoned, he wouldn't deny me of any assistance that he could provide. So no wonder that _you_ don't have a wife or a family of your own... you would disapprove of everything and tear down the dreams of any children you might have. My father wouldn't do that, and since you don't have the same attitude that my father would have if he were here, then you are no longer invited to my wedding, because you would spoil the happiest day of my life with your disapproving attitude, and you cannot give me away, because you are not even invited to the wedding. Goodbye, Francois."

Then, without waiting for a reply, she unlocked and opened the door, and she and Marc stepped outside, closing the door behind them and leaving Francois alone.

Marc and Christine were silent as they walked to his car, and then, when they got inside the car and started to drive towards Marc's Paris house, Marc began, "Listen, Christine, darling... I'm sure he didn't really mean it -"

"I don't want to talk about it," she interrupted, staring out the window.

He gazed at her sadly for a moment, feeling terrible that she felt bad, and then replied, "Okay."

Then they were silent for the rest of the way to the house.

When they arrived at the house, she went down the hallway into Marc's bedroom, which she was sharing with him. Then she went inside the bedroom, closed the door, walked over to the bed, lay down, and started crying.

Marc then walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind him and then walking over to the bed, sitting next to where she was lying and stroking her hair.

"I thought he would be happy for me," she whispered brokenly. "But he yelled at me... he said that I was being stupid."

"I know," he said gently, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sorry, darling. But I'm sure he didn't really mean what he said. He's just very protective of you, that's all. He doesn't want to see you hurt again." He smiled to himself for a moment. "I suppose it's a good thing that I didn't mention to him that I'm Cameron's best friend, or else I'd have really been in trouble."

"I suppose so." She let out a sigh and looked up at him. "Well, I suppose I'll have to walk down the aisle by myself, but I don't mind. I'll manage. I mean, who needs someone walking them down the aisle at their wedding? Fools!"

"That's right," he agreed, trying to make her feel better. Then he lay on his back next to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer to him. "And now let's go to sleep. I'm feeling rather tired."

"All right," she sighed, kissing him. "Good night, Marc, and I'm sorry that you had to see Francois become angry. But I'm worse than he is."

"It's all right. Good night, love."

"Good night," she sighed contentedly, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around him.

They soon fell asleep together.


	46. Chapter 46: Easily Insulted

**A/N #1: Sorry it's been a while since I've updated!**

**A/N #2: Marc sings, too! So Christine's singing is italics, Marc's is bold, and both are bold and italics.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the song _Come What May_ from _Moulin Rouge!_**

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One evening a week later, Marc, Christine, Cameron, and Emilie were in London, staying at Wellington Estates with Sarah, who had been ecstatic to find out that Marc and Christine were getting married and were going to have a child, meaning that she was going to be a sister - in - law and an aunt.

After the five friends and/or family members had had dinner and washed the dishes, they all made their way into the parlor to drink Russian tea with lemon and listen to Christine play the piano and sing. (Since Sarah wasn't mean to Christine any more, she said that Christine was the most fantastic pianist and singer she'd ever heard.)

"Well, what are you going to sing tonight?" Sarah inquired as she, Marc, Cameron, and Emilie sat down in chairs and the sofa and Christine sat down on the piano bench.

Christine looked thoughtful. "I don't know."

"Sing, my Angel of Music," Cameron said jokingly, chuckling a little. "Sing for me!"

"I sing for no one," Christine said seriously. Then she looked at Marc and smiled. "But, of course, I might make an exception for a certain British man..."

Marc smiled back at her. "Yes, make an exception for me... sing for me."

"What would you like me to sing for you?" Christine inquired.

"Sing _Come What May_."

Cameron and Emilie sat upright as though a jolt of electricity had gone through them.

"_Come What May?_" Cameron echoed. "_Come What May_, as in the song from the third act of _Genius's Mistake_?"

"Yes, and that's all we're going to say about that," Christine said, giving Cameron a stern look that told him not to speak of _Genius's Mistake_ any further. Then she turned to Marc. "So, _Come What May_?"

Marc nodded and smiled. "Yes. Yes; please sing _Come What May_ for me. It's a lovely song."

"I'm glad you think so," Christine replied, turning to the piano and starting to play the intro to _Come What May_.

Then, as she took a breath to start singing the first verse, she suddenly stopped and turned to face her audience.

"Wait," she said. "This doesn't feel right. I can't sing this alone any more... I sang it alone for you, Marc, but it really doesn't make sense unless you've got a male and a female singing the duet. Who wants to sing with me? Men only."

"I'll sing it with you," Cameron offered. "I mean, only if you want me to."

Christine winced. "No offense, Cameron, but the last time you sang this with me, it didn't quite end well."

Cameron shrugged and smiled. "That's all right. I understand." He turned to Marc and grinned. "Well, then that leaves you, Marcus, old boy."

Marc's brown eyes widened. "No!" he breathed, shaking his head. "Oh, heavens, no, Cameron... you know better than anyone how horrid of a singer I am."

"Oh, come on, Marc! You weren't _that_ horrid of a singer when we were young!" Cameron replied with a laugh. "Come on... sing for us!"

"Come on, Marc," Christine said, trying to sound encouraging. "I'm sure you're not as horrid as Pablo Bertelli."

Cameron and Emilie let out shrieks and covered their ears with their hands.

"Oh, never mention that name in this house or any other house that has good taste in music!" Cameron cried out. "Marc is certainly not as horrible as Pablo."

"He can't be; no one is as horrible as Pablo," Christine replied. "So come on, Marc... show us what you've got."

Marc looked extremely terrified as he rose from the sofa and sat next to Christine on the piano bench. He took a deep, shuddering breath as he turned to Christine.

"Christine, I can't do this," he whispered. "I'm a horrid singer... I couldn't sing if my life depended on it. The moment I open my mouth, everyone will start to laugh at me. Please, don't make me sing."

Christine let out a sigh and kissed Marc's cheek. "You'll be all right. Just sing. Can you read sheet music?"

"Yes."

"Good." She quickly grabbed a piece of paper, drew staff lines on it, and started writing the lyrics and the music notes on it. Then she handed it to him. "Now, I'll cue you when it's your turn to sing."

Marc nodded, and then she started playing the intro to _Come What May_ a second time. Then she started singing.

_Never knew_

_I could feel like this -_

_Like I've never seen the sky_

_Before_

_Want to vanish_

_Inside your kiss..._

_Every day I love you more_

_And more..._

_Listen to my heart -_

_Can you hear? It sings,_

_Tellin' me to give you everything..._

_Seasons may change,_

_Winter to spring..._

_But I love you_

_Until the end of time..._

_Come what may..._

_Come what may..._

_I will love you_

_Until my dying day..._

Christine then nodded, and Marc started singing.

**Suddenly the world**

**Seems such a perfect place...**

**Suddenly it moves**

**With such a perfect place...**

_**Suddenly my life doesn't seem**_

_**Such a waste...**_

**It all revolves around you...**

_**And there's no mountain too high,**_

_**No river too wide...**_

_**Sing out this song**_

_**And I'll be there by your side...**_

_**Storm clouds may gather,**_

_**And stars may collide...**_

_But I love you _**(I love you)**

_Until the end_

_Of time... _**(Until the end of time)**

_**Come what may...**_

_**Come what may...**_

_**I will love you**_

_**Until my dying day**_

_**Oh, come what may...**_

_**Come what may...**_

_**I will love you...**_

**Oh, I will love you...**

**Suddenly the world**

**Seems such a perfect place...**

_**Come what may...**_

_**Come what may...**_

_**I will love you**_

_**Until my dying day...**_

Then the song ended, and Christine smiled at Marc.

"That was very good," she said encouragingly. "I think that you're a very decent singer. You weren't bad at all."

"Thanks," Marc replied rather shyly, smiling a little. Then he yawned and stretched, checking his pocketwatch. "Well, it's late. We'd all better go to bed."

Cameron, Emilie, Christine, and Sarah agreed, and they all rose and stretched, including Marc. Then everyone wished everyone a good night and made their way to their respective rooms.

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When Marc and Christine were upstairs in Marc's old room, the room that they were currently sharing, Marc wrapped his arms around Christine and pressed his face into her neck.

"Thank you," he whispered in her ear.

"For what?" she murmured, not bothering to pull away because she didn't want to get out of his embrace.

"Everything," he sighed. "For being so nice to me after I sang with my God - awful voice, for risking yourself for me, for being so wonderful and beautiful."

"Hmm," she sighed. Then she nuzzled against his chest, hugging him even tighter. She constantly feared the moment that he would pull away and never come back.

He pressed his lips against her neck and said softly, "Come on, my dear... let's get out of these dreadfully uncomfortable clothes and get into that wonderful bed and warm ourselves up... it's getting to be constantly cold from the weather."

She laughed softly. "We're going to have a child already... I rather think that we're done with all of that business for a while."

"No, we're not," he teased. "Come on... let's get out of these clothes..."

"Oh, all right," she sighed, turning around so that her back was to him. "Get me out of my dress and unlace my corset, would you?"

"_Avec plaisir_, _mon amour_ (With pleasure, my love)," he whispered in her ear, unbuttoning her dress and sliding it off of her shoulders and her body.

As she stepped out of it, he unbuttoned his shirt, removed it, and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling one of her shoulders with his chin.

"Your skin... it's so soft," he whispered, kissing her neck and pulled her ever closer to him. "_Belle_... (Beautiful...)"

As he began unlacing her corset and stuck his hands underneath, massaging her back with his fingertips, she let out a sigh of ecstasy.

"_Cela se sent stupéfiant_ (That feels stunning)," she breathed. "Please don't stop."

When he removed her corset completely, he instructed, "Christine, my love, I forbid you to wear this corset the rest of the time that you're expecting our child."

"Don't wear a corset?" she exclaimed in shock, her eyes still closed. "Isn't that rather improper?"

"By no means. It is perfectly excusable to not wear a corset while you're expecting a child. But of course, if you wish to wear a corset, our child might end up -"

He stopped short suddenly, rather tensely removing his hands from her back and subsiding into a rather uncomfortable silence. She drew in her breath sharply, feeling that she knew what he'd stopped himself from saying.

She whirled around to face him, and he could see the rage starting to burn in her eyes.

"Our child might end up _what_?" she spat. "_Deformed?_ Is that what you were going to say?"

"Now, Christine dear, don't get angry -"

"I'm not angry - I'm _furious_!" she shouted, her face reddening, which he could see through the darkness, as she started advancing on him and he stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender. "How dare you! What on earth are you thinking, saying such a horrible thing; to me, of all people?"

"Christine, please; it was a thoughtless comment -"

"You're damn right it was thoughtless!"

She continued to advance on him until he was pressed against the wall. Then she reached her hands out to his neck, rage making her eyes almost seem red.

"Christine," he whispered in terror, whimpering slightly. "Christine, please... please don't hurt me! I'm sorry; I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say such a bad thing; why do you think I stopped saying it?"

As she was about to grab his neck and strangle him, she suddenly stopped, and then she stared at him, her hands bare centimeters away from his neck. Then, without any warning, she burst into tears, sinking down to the floor and starting to rock back and forth, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head on her knees.

"Oh, Christine," he said softly, kneeling down in front of her and taking hold of her arms, pulling them away from her. Then he reached out and embraced her, trying very hard to ignore the fact that there was nothing covering the upper half of her body since her corset was gone.

"I'm sorry," she said miserably, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder, her voice muffled. "I'm not angry at you... not enough to kill you... it's just everything with Francois being angry at me... and this pregnancy is making me extremely moody... I'm sorry..."

"It's all right," he replied, kissing the top of her head. "I shouldn't have said that... or, at least, started to say it. It was stupid and thoughtless. _I'm_ the one who ought to be sorry. So I'm sorry."

She let out a sigh and relaxed against him. Then she nuzzled his neck and lightly pressed her lips against his chin.

"_Je t'aime_, _mon amour_ (I love you, my love)," she murmured tiredly.

"_Je t'aime d'avantage_ (I love you more)," he replied. Then he started stroking her hair. "_Je veux sentir tes lèvres douces partout sur mon corps._ (I want to feel your soft lips all over me.)"

She laughed softly. "_Tu es fou_ (You're crazy)," she said.

"But you still love me," he sighed, pressing his lips against her hair. Then he grasped her arms and had her stand as he stood himself.

Without another word, he gently pushed her onto the bed, got on top of her, and reached down to her underskirt.


	47. Chapter 47: At Wellington Estates

**A/N: In order to compensate for my lack of updates in the adventures of Marc, Christine, and everyone else, I'll be writing as many chapters as possible in the days to come!  
**

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A few days later, Marc, Christine, Sarah, Emilie, and Cameron sat in the parlor at Wellington Estates, drinnking Russian tea with lemon made by Christine and discussing Marc and Christine's wedding.

"Have you decided on a date yet?" Sarah asked Marc and Christine excitedly, taking a quick sip of her tea.

Marc smiled and shrugged, wrapping an arm around Christine's shoulders. "No. Whenever Christine wishes is fine, though."

"Don't wait on me," Christine sighed, running a hand through her thick black waves of hair. "I'd like to get married as soon as possible, so just pick a close date."

"I think you two should get married close to Christmas," Emilie suggested. "It's such a lovely time of year anyway, and a wedding would make it even lovelier."

Christine cocked her visible eyebrow. "_Christmas?_" she echoed, the word unfamiliar and foreign in her mouth. "What is Christmas, exactly?"

Marc looked incredulous. "You don't know what Christmas is? How do you not know about that day?"

"My father taught me many things, all of which I remember, and Christmas, whatever that is, wasn't one of them. So someone explain it to me, please."

Marc turned to Cameron and shot him an accusing, this - is - your - fault look. "I can't believe you never told her what Christmas is in the time that you knew her at the Opera!"

"Don't blame me!" Cameron exclaimed. "I thought she knew, but I knew she didn't believe in God, so I didn't bother mentioning it whenever it came around."

"Oh, so it has something to do with _God_," Christine said with sudden contempt, folding her arms across her chest and burrowing herself into the sofa. "Well, then I'd most definitely not know about this Christmas thing. I'm sure I'd despise it, anyway, since it has something to do with _God_."

Marc let out a sigh. "I do wish you'd quit speaking about God like that, Christine dear. He made all of us, made all of us meet... he's responsible for everything."

"Yes, everything," Christine said rather bitingly. "So he's responsible for my father's face, my father's face being passed on to me, my mother abandoning me, and my father being killed."

"Yes," Marc admitted reluctantly, "but he's responsible for all of the good things, too, including us being together. And _I_ think that your father's face - _your_ face - is a good thing as well."

Christine let out a scoff, but said nothing to protest against his statement and inquired, "Well, will someone tell me what Christmas is, or am I going to have to be kept in the dark until it comes around?"

"Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus," Marc explained patiently. "Jesus is, you know, -"

"I know who Jesus is."

"Right. But Christmas is the celebration of his birth. Every year, on the twenty - fifth of December, people around the world gather together and celebrate with family and friends by feasting and exchanging gifts. Most go to a service at a church as well."

"Hmm. Why give someone gifts if it's someone else's birthday, supposedly, and not theirs, though?"

Marc had to hide his smile; here was, at last, one subject in which he knew more than Christine. "It's because God gave us the gift of Jesus, who was sacrificed so that we wouldn't have to die for all the horrible things we've done. So we give each other gifts to remind each other of the gift given to us years before we were even conceived - the gift of being forgiven of our sins."

"Interesting," Christine murmured, but her tone contradicted her statement. "So... to have a wedding at Christmas. I suppose that wouldn't be bad, even though Christmas has to do with _God_."

"Christine, you _are_ aware that we're going to be married in God's house, aren't you?" Marc inquired, raising his eyebrows.

Christine looked even more confused than she had when Christmas had first been mentioned. "You mean that we're somehow going to travel to Heaven and get married there?"

Cameron started laughing aloud, unable to control himself any longer from showing his amusement at this whole conversation. He found it amazing that, for once, Christine was the ignorant person in the group.

As Christine bowed her head, her face warm from embarassment at Cameron laughing at her, Marc shot Cameron a look of pure venom that almost matched the one Christine had at times. Then Cameron grew silent, and Marc continued explaining.

"No, dear," he said to Christine. "People call a church 'God's house', see? So when you speak of God's house, you're referring to a church, not where God actually lives in Heaven. So I meant that we're going to be married in a church."

"Oh," Christine replied. "Well, of course I knew that. Why is that relevant?"

"Because our wedding is going to take place in a place where people worship God, and so our wedding would have to do with God, even if we weren't planning on having it at Christmas."

Christine nodded. "Oh... now I understand. Thank you for explaining it to me, Marc, and for not laughing at me," she finished, glaring over at Cameron.

"Any time, dear," Marc replied, kissing the top of her head. "Anything else you need help understanding?"

Christine looked miffed, but she simply shook her head. "No, thank you."

"Good. So what do you think of a Christmas wedding?"

"I suppose that would be nice," Christine said thoughtfully. "But as I already said, I don't care when it is we get married, as long as it's soon and before the baby comes."

At the mention of Marc and Christine's unborn child, Sarah started a new conversation by asking, "Do you know what you're going to name the baby?"

"Erik/Madison," Marc and Christine said at the same time. (Marc said _Madison_ and Christine said _Erik_.)

"It seems that there is a disagreement about names," Cameron said, stating the obvious. "I personally think that both of those names are nice, but you two need to come to a definite decision. Emilie and I, for instance, have agreed to name our child Laurent."

"Laurent," Christine echoed. "That means 'crowned with laurel'. So is your son going to be an athlete... someone that wins something?"

"We're hoping so," Cameron replied. "But yes, we have been told by the doctor that we're going to definitely have a son, and we're going to name him Laurent."

"You two _do_ need to come to a decision on your child's name," Sarah said, sounding as though she were the expert on these matters.

Christine nodded and turned to Marc. "You want to name our son Madison. Isn't that rather feminine for a boy?"

"Yes, which is why our child - our ­­_daughter­­_ - will be named Madison. I can't believe you want to name our daughter Erik."

"I suppose it's a good thing that we're not going to have a daughter, then, yes?"

"We're going to have a daughter, Christine," Marc said firmly. "We're going to have a little girl that I can spoil as much as I spoil you."

"_No_; we're going to have a _son_ that will be named after his grandfather."

Marc laughed. "You're quite mad to think that you're carrying a boy. The firstborn children in the Wellington family have always been girls in every generation. It's an age - old tradition."

"Which we're going to break by having a son, whose name will be Erik," Christine replied. "This child is a boy. I can tell by how vigorously he kicks at night."

There was then a knock at the front door, and Emilie, Cameron, and Sarah rushed to answer it all at once, not wanting to get stuck in the middle of Marc and Christine's debate.

"Girl," Marc said simply. "Her name is Madison Louise Wellington."

"Boy," Christine argued. "_His_ name is Erik Christopher Wellington."

"Girl named Madison!"

"Boy named Erik!"

"Girl named Madison!"

"Boy named - _Francois_?" Christine exclaimed as she saw Francois Jannes standing in the doorway of the parlor along with Cameron, Emilie, and Sarah.

Francois nodded and removed his hat. "_Bonjour_, Christine... Marc. It seems that I have come at a bad time. Shall I return later?"

Stunned by the fact that Francois had come to London to see her, Christine rose from the sofa which she and Marc had been sitting on and shook her head. "No... you may stay, if it is all right with Marc and Sarah. This is their house."

"Oh! My apologies, _mademoiselle_, for not introducing myself," Francois said formally, turning to Sarah and doing a little bow. "My name is Francois Jannes, and I am an old friend of Christine's - perhaps I am still her friend."

As Francois took Sarah's hand in his and kissed it, an expression that had never before been seen on Sarah's face came across Sarah's face, and Sarah replied, "That is all right, _Monsieur_ Jannes. I did not introduce myself, either. My name is Sarah Wellington. I'm Marcus's oldest sister."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, _Mademoiselle_ Wellington," Francois replied, standing up straight and kissing Sarah's hand again while looking her directly in the eye.

When Francois released Sarah's hand, Sarah placed her hand down at her side, and the two continued to look into each other's eyes in a somewhat revealing first moment of eye contact.

Christine then cleared her throat, somewhat confused by the silent communion between Sarah and Francois, and asked, "Francois, may I ask how it is that you came to know that I was here?"

Francois looked away from Sarah and turned to Christine, replying, "Certainly, my dear. I remembered Marc's last name from when I met him, so when I arrived here, I asked where I might find the Wellington residence. I was directed here."

"How did you know Marc and I came back to London?"

"I assumed that since you had come to Paris just to see me, you would simply return here. As I turned out, I was correct in my assumption." Francois then bit his lip, looking somewhat ashamed. "_Mon ami_, I came to apologize for my inexcusable behavior towards you. I should have been happy for you instead of getting angry like I did. I just get protective of you when it comes to you having a relastionship with a man; you know that. I thought you were just making another stupid mistake... but I was quite, quite wrong."

"Indeed you were," Marc interjected. "I would never abandon Christine, like you said I would."

"I know," Francois replied, bowing his head slightly. "I apologize from the bottom of my heart. Will you both forgive me?"

Christine looked at Francois for a moment before saying seriously, "No. Francois, it's been very hard ever since you said those horrid things to me. You've criticized me so much in the past, and now I'm past the point of forgiveness."

Tears filled Francois's light grey eyes. "Oh, Christine..."

Just as it looked as though Francois was going to start crying, Christine laughed. "I'm joking, _vieux schnoque_ (old fart)!"

"Oh!" Francois exclaimed, laughing a little and wiping his eyes. Then he opened his arms up to her. "Come here, _blagueur_ (jokester)!"

Christine walked over to Francois and wrapped her arms around him, and he closed his arms around her, and they embraced, friends once again.

Sarah looked jealous upon seeing this, which Marc noted with surprise. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and then she changed her expression from jealous to blank.

When Francois and Christine broke apart, Francois continued, "I know it's very bad manners to ask, but I should like to give you away to your young man very badly. May I have that honor?"

"Of course," Christine replied with a smile, "but only if it is all right by Marc. You insulted him as well, you know."

Francois turned to Marc hopefully. "Well, Marc? My future as a father figure rests in your hands."

Marc then nodded and smiled. "Of course you may give away Christine. I would be honored if you did that at our wedding."

"Thank you," Francois replied, nodding. Then he turned to Christine. "_Mon ami_, how about you make some tea, and I'll speak to Marc and everyone else."

"Well, we've already had tea, but I'm sure we'd all like some more," Christine said. "I'll make more."

"I'll come with you and help," Sarah quickly offered, following Christine into the kitchen as Francois, Marc, Emilie, and Cameron sat down in the parlor and started talking.

As Christine then started pulling out a clean teapot, filling it with water and placing it on the part of the stovetop she'd turned on, Sarah stood there, not helping as she'd said she was going to. She simply looked at Christine wordlessly.

Christine turned and saw Sarah looking at her. She shrugged. "What?"

"Nothing," Sarah said rather distractedly, walking over to the refrigerator, opening the door, and then bending down and pulling out some lemons to slice and put in the tea.

When Sarah walked back over to Christine, she placed the lemons down on the kitchen counter. Christine then pulled a knife out of the silverware drawer and started slicing up the lemons.

After observing Christine as she sliced the lemons for a moment, Sarah inquired, trying to sound casual, "So.. how is it that you know him?"

Christine didn't bother looking up from the lemons. "Who? Francois?"

"Yes."

"He's my friend and father figure," Christine replied. "We met about three years ago, shortly after my father died. He worked at the Opera; he was a scene - shifter."

"Is he married?"

"No; he has no family that's alive. He was never married and has no children or any living relatives. He's quite alone, and as far as I know, I'm the only person that he really has a close relationship with."

"Oh." Sarah paused, and then suddenly sounded alarmed as she burst out abruptly, "He's not seeing anyone, is he... I mean, he doesn't court anyone, right?"

"Not as far as I know," Christine replied, looking up at Sarah with an amused expression on her face. "I think he would have told me... why?"

"Oh... no reason," Sarah said, trying to sound casual again as her expression went from nervous to blank. "I just don't know him, so I wanted to know about him. That's all."

Christine saw Sarah's face flush, and then she realized what Sarah was trying to imply. A knowing smile came over her face, and she said, "Oh, Sarah..."

Sarah looked up at her future sister - in - law and shrugged. "What?"

"You _like_ Francois, don't you?" Christine inquired, the secret smile still on her face.

"What? No!" Sarah exclaimed, looking shocked by the question. "What on earth would make you think that? I hardly know the man." She paused and let out a sigh, shaking her head. "Lord, Christine... what gave you such an outrageous idea?"

However, even though she was turned away, Christine saw a secret smile come over Sarah's face as well. This caused Christine to laugh out loud.

"Just don't do anything stupid, _sœur_ (sister)," Christine then said, wiping the tears that had come to her laughter away from her eyes. "You just met the man, after all."

Sarah bit her lower lip and smiled, looking up at Christine and shrugging. "All right."

Christine smiled, glad that she'd gotten Sarah to admit to liking Francois. Then she said simply, "Let's make the tea - I'm sure it's ready now."


	48. Chapter 48: Francois's Request

It was soon decided that Marc and Christine were going to have a Christmas wedding, which was to be held at the same church that Emmanuelle, Marc's other sister, and Albert, her husband, were married.

"I think that we should have a rehearsal sometime soon," Marc declared as he, Christine, Francois, Sarah, Cameron, Emilie, Emmanuelle, and Albert (who had arrived a few days before) sat at the dining room table, eating dinner together.

"That would be best," Emmanuelle agreed. "Rehearsals are the best thing to do to ensure that your wedding goes as wonderfully as planned."

"Yes," Francois, who had made sure that he would sit next to Sarah at dinner and every other meal everyone had together, said, not looking at the engaged couple and instead looking at Sarah, who was trying her best to avoid eye contact with him.

"Although," Emmanuelle then added darkly to Marc, giving Christine a dirty look, "I find it rather horrid that you're going to marry _her_ and that you've given yourself to _her_ and gotten _her_ pregnant."

Christine bowed her head, ashamed and embarassed that Emmanuelle still hated her, Marc looked angry, but said nothing, Sarah looked miffed, Cameron and Emilie looked surprised, and Albert did nothing.

"How dare you, _Madame_ Tyler," Francois said, his voice calm while still looking and sounding enraged. "I cannot believe that someone who is related to someone as kind as Marcus Wellington could be so cruel. I am quite shocked that you even came here in the first place."

Sarah looked up at Francois, who had risen from his chair while speaking, in genuine admiration, and Emmanuelle looked mad and replied coolly, "Well, Mr. Johns -"

"It's _Jannes_, _Madame_."

"Well, Mr. _Jannes_, I'm going to be as cruel as I wish to be. Maybe you're not aware, but _that monster_ killed my mother and practically ruined my wedding."

"_'That monster'_ is my friend," Francois snapped, "and I'll be damned if someone like _you_ is going to be cruel to her. I cannot believe that you are going to be a part of this wedding, of which you do obviously not approve."

Then, without waiting for Emmanuelle to reply, Francois seated himself down in his chair and let out a sigh, picking up his fork and starting to eat his dinner again.

Sarah looked at Christine and smiled at her, her facial expression saying, "Your friend is so wonderful."

Christine smiled back and gave her a look that said, "Yes, he is. I think that you should do something to let him know how you feel."

It was a lot to get from one facial expression, but Sarah evidently understood, because she shook her head, her eyes widening in shock at the suggestion.

Christine then shrugged and resumed eating, and Sarah followed her example, keeping her eyes on Francois the entire time.

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About three days later, Marc, Christine, and the people who were going to be attending the wedding were at The Lord's Church, where Albert and Emmanuelle had been married.

Just as they were about to begin the rehearsal wedding ceremony, Francois walked into the chapel, which he wasn't supposed to be doing unless he was taking Christine to the altar, and walked up to the altar, purpose in his step.

When Francois came to Marc, Marc raised his eyebrows in surprised amusement. "Is there something you wanted, Francois?"

"Ah, Marc," Francois said quickly. "I was wondering if I might ask you something very quickly. Perhaps I should wait, though."

"Don't be ridiculous," Marc scoffed. "We can't start the ceremony until you're in back with Christine, anyway. What is it that you wanted to ask about?"

At this question, Francois blushed slightly, and he looked down at the floor, making a circle with his foot and saying nothing in reply.

Marc looked at Francois curiously for a moment and then placed a hand on his future father - figure - in - law's shoulder. "Francois?"

Francois looked up at Marc and then inquired nervously, "Marc, I was wondering... how old is your sister?"

"My sister?" Marc echoed. "You mean Sarah?"

"Yes."

"She's twenty - seven. Why?"

"Is she _with_ anyone?"

"You mean is she courting anyone? No. Why?"

"Well, I... I, um..."

Francois's voice trailed off, and he sighed and looked down at the floor for another moment, feeling rather too shy to go on.

"Francois?" Marc inquired. "What is it?"

After a moment, Francois looked back up at Marc and said rather shyly, "Well, Marc, I haven't known your sister for that long, but... I rather like her quite a lot. She's unlike any other woman I've ever met. I was wondering if I... well, if I might ask your permission to court her."

Marc started laughing out loud, surprised by this shy and awkward man's confession. He'd had an idea that Francois and Sarah had an unspoken mutual liking for each other, and now Francois had confirmed that he'd liked Sarah.

When Marc saw that Francois was starting to look offended and embarassed, he said, "I'm sorry, Francois... it's just that no one has ever openly admitted to liking my sister. But yes, you may court Sarah... if she will have you, which I'm sure she will."

Francois looked delighted. "Oh, Marc... you really think she will?"

"Yes. I get the impression that she likes you as well."

"Oh, wonderful!" Francois exclaimed. "Thank you, Marc!"

Then, without waiting for a reply, Francois turned and quickly walked to the back of the chapel to where Christine, Sarah, and all the women of the wedding party would be.

"_Mademoiselle_ Sarah," Francois said breathlessly as he stepped up to Sarah, "_Mademoiselle_ Sarah... I must inquire now; I can't wait any more. I was wondering if... I wondered if you might like to..."

When he stopped short nervously, a small, knowing smile slowly came to Sarah's face. "_Monsieur_ Jannes, are you asking me if you may court me?"

Francois nodded and blushed slightly. "Yes. Yes, _mademoiselle_, I am."

Sarah nodded, smiled, and then shrugged. "Yes; you may court me, _Monsieur_ Jannes."

Francois smiled. "Very good. How about we have supper somewhere tomorrow night?"

"I would love that."

Francois nodded, and then turned to Christine, stepping next to her and linking arms with her.

After a moment, Christine patted Francois's arm in a congratulatory and reassuring manner. Francois then glanced at her, and they smiled at each other, turning away from each other as the music started to play, and the bridesmaids started walking out into the chapel.


	49. Chapter 49: Sarah and Francois's Date

**A/N #1: Sorry it's been so long since I've updated! This was on hiatus for a while, but now I've decided to work on it again!**

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The next evening, Sarah and Christine were sitting in Sarah's room, trying to find something for Sarah to wear for her outing with Francois.

"What's his type?" Sarah inquired, digging through her closet and eventually picking three different dresses. She turned to Christine, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, and showed her the dresses.

"Wilting flower?" she continued, pulling a sad face as she placed a long black dress that had long sleeves, something that looked like it was appropriate for a funeral, in front of her.

"Bright and bubbly?" she then asked, making a strange happy squeal and then placing a bright pink dress that went down to the middle of her calves in front of her.

"Or... smoldering temptress?" she finished, placing a rather long dark red dress in front of her and making a face that somewhat looked as if it would belong to a prostitute.

Christine cocked her visible eyebrow. "I don't really know, Sarah... but whatever you do, don't pull that face that you just made. It was disgusting."

"No smoldering temptress, then?" Sarah sighed, looking at the 'smoldering temptress' dress somewhat longingly and then reluctantly hanging it back up in her closet. "All right. So it's either wilting flower or bright and bubbly. Which one would he like better, do you think?"

"Probably the bright and bubbly, but for God's sake, don't wear that pink dress."

"What? Why not? Does he not like it when girls wear pink?"

"I don't know, but I despise pink," Christine said darkly, looking at the pink dress with disgust. "If you're going to be bright and bubbly, then wear something that's not so..." - she paused for a moment, searching for the right word - "bright and bubbly."

"Then what should I wear? If he wants bright and bubbly, I think I should wear something that would suit that, don't you?"

Christine let out a sigh and ran a hand through her black waves, shrugging. "I suppose... but you shouldn't try to be bright and bubbly. You should try to be Sarah; be yourself. He likes you because you're you. Wear whatever you want, but don't put on a masquerade. Don't try to be something that doesn't always suit you."

"All right, then," Sarah sighed, placing the other two dresses back in her closet and then starting to dig through again. "I have nothing to wear!"

Christine scoffed. "You say that, yet it's an effort for you to push one dress out of the way so that you can view another." She paused. "Why do you have me in here, helping you, anyway?"

"Well, you know more about his tastes than I do."

"If you mean his tastes in women, then no, I really don't. I've never known him to be romantically involved with anyone. You're the first woman that I've ever heard of him asking to take out somewhere. And even if I did know his taste in women, I'm certainly not going to lie and say that I'm an expert when it comes to courting people. Marc is the only one that I've ever had a true romantic relationship with, and I stumble through it all the time. I'm honestly shocked that he asked me to marry him."

Sarah let out a gasp and whirled around to face her future sister - in - law. "You are? Christine, you must be insane or blind! My brother was infatuated with you before you two were even courting - it was so obvious to everyone when he first introduced you to us!"

Christine cocked her visible eyebrow a second time. "Well, it wasn't obvious to me, evidently. I'm still surprised that he loves me."

"Well, no one else is," Sarah replied, shrugging. "Anyway, do you think that Francois might like me? _Love_ me, even?"

"He obviously likes you, or else he wouldn't have asked for your permission to court you. As for love... we'll have to see what happens. None of us can choose where we will love. So who knows - if he doesn't love you now, which he very well might, he might love you eventually. But these things take time, you know - most of the time, anyway."

Sarah let out a most unladylike snort. "You say that you have no experience in these things, yet here you are, speaking as if you're an expert."

"This isn't about me, Sarah. I'm not the one who's fixing to go out somewhere with my best friend." Christine paused, suddenly giving Sarah a dark look. "I tell you this, Sarah Wellington... if you even do so much as think about hurting Francois's feelings or anything else, I will take the greatest pleasure in making you cease to live!"

Sarah let out a gasp and looked terrified, her face going pale. "Oh, my...!"

Then, without any warning, Christine's facial expression changed from threatening to amused, and she threw her head back, laughing gleefully.

"Oh, I tricked you!" she triumphed, looking very pleased with herself. "You see, I'm not all bad."

"You're not bad at all," Marc, who had stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him without being noticed, said to his fianceé, sitting down next to her and placing a kiss on her unmasked, undeformed cheek. "You're wonderful."

"_Merci_," Christine sighed, patting Marc's hand. Then she glanced up at Sarah. "Well, have you decided what it is that you'll be wearing tonight?"

Sarah looked very nervous all of a sudden, and she glanced resignedly down at what she was currently dressed in, a pale blue dress that went all the way down to her ankles, along with a pair of black shoes.

"I supposed I'll just wear this," she sighed resignedly. "It's nice enough for whatever Francois and I will be doing, don't you think?"

"Yes... and I don't really think that he'll care that you're wearing the same thing that you've been wearing since this afternoon. You look attractive enough, and I think he'll be too biased due to his liking you to care."

"Then this is what I'll wear," Sarah said with a shrug, suddenly looking very excited. A flush started to come to her cheeks. "Let's go downstairs - I know Francois is down there, and I don't wish to keep him waiting any longer!"

"Then we shall go," Marc replied, and he and Christine rose and followed Sarah out of her bedroom and downstairs to the parlor.

As Sarah had said, Francois was sitting in there, looking incredibly nervewracked and holding a bouquet of pink roses in his hand. Christine had never seen her friend look so nervous.

Francois glanced up and saw Sarah standing there, and he rose abruptly, taking Sarah's outstretched hand in his free hand and kissing her knuckles.

"_Mademoiselle_ Sarah," he said, not sounding at all as afraid as he looked, "you look truly beautiful. You outshine the moon and the stars now... Helen of Troy could not be more lovely."

Sarah blushed prettily. "Thank you." She pointed at the roses that he was holding in his other hand. "Are those for me?"

"Indeed," he replied, suddenly not looking afraid any more as he handed them to her. Then he glanced over Sarah's shoulder at Christine, who had been silently observing this beside Marc. "I hope you're not jealous that I've given another young woman roses now, _mon ami_."

Christine smiled. "Not at all."

"Christine, would you please put these in a vase for me?" Sarah asked, handing the roses to Christine. "I wouldn't want them to go bad because they weren't taken care of properly."

"Of course."

"Well, shall we be off, then?" Francois prompted, extending one arm to Sarah and smiling at her. "Our reservation for supper is at seven o'clock, and that time is almost near."

"Then let us go," Sarah replied, taking Francois's arm and smiling back at him. She glanced over at her brother and future sister - in - law. "I shall see you both when I return."

"Have a wonderful time," Christine said, nodding at the two.

"Don't do anything naughty, now!" Marc teased as Sarah and Francois walked out the door, closing and locking the door behind them.

Then he turned to Christine and grinned rather wickedly. "Now, my love... at last we are alone!" he triumphed, wrapping his arms around her waist and dipping her as if they had been dancing.

Christine laughed a little, placing her hands on his face and looking into his brown eyes intently with her grey - green ones. "Yes, we are... perhaps we should have supper ourselves. Are you hungry?"

"Yes... but not for food."

She smiled softly, her face going slightly red. Even after all this time, even after all the times that she'd had with the man she loved, she couldn't believe that he could be such an animal!

"Well, _monsieur_," she said softly, "I suppose you should do what is necessary to satisfy your hunger."

"That is exactly what I intend to do," he replied, a sneaky smile coming to his lips as he scooped up his pregnant fianceé in his arms and started heading for the stairs. "Now, my dear, there is one part of our wedding that you and I have not yet rehearsed... something that I wish to rehearse very much... our wedding night."

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A few hours later, as Christine lay in Marc's arms like a lazy, contented cat, a sudden thought occurred to her.

"Marc," she said softly, not really knowing if he was awake due to his stillness.

"Hmm?" Marc murmured, pressing his lips against her neck. "What is it?"

She was feeling nervous about asking the question that had popped into her head, so she twiddled her thumbs for a moment before inquiring uneasily, "This child... what if... what if it looks like me?"

"What do you mean, what if it looks like you?" he inquired, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at her, the depth of love in his eyes indescribable. "You're beautiful."

"Well, you know... what if the baby has my face?" she asked, her voice suddenly very quiet and very afraid.

He smiled and sighed, placing a kiss on her deformed cheek. "Then I shall love it as I love you."

She smiled back at him, feeling reassured and wondering how on earth it was that she'd gotten lucky enough to find a man as wonderful as Marc. She was shocked that she'd ever loved Cameron.

All of a sudden, they heard the sound of the front door opening and closing.

"We're home!" Sarah's voice then came.

"Oh, damn it," Marc muttered, rolling out of bed and grabbing a nearby bathrobe that belonged to him. He tossed Christine's bathrobe, which had been lying next to his, to her. "Put that on quickly. If Sarah finds us alone in a bedroom, she'll go mad and start lecturing us about how we should wait until we're married."

"It's a little late for that," Christine mumbled, but she rose anyway, pulling on her bathrobe and then grabbing her mask, which had been lying on the nearby nightstand, putting it back on her face. Then she and Marc walked out of his bedroom, heading downstairs to greet Sarah and Francois.

"Well, I must be going now," Francois said when the engaged couple arrived downstairs. He turned to Sarah and kissed her hand, and he and Sarah exchanged a secret look. "I shall see you tomorrow, _Mademoiselle_ Sarah. Thank you for the pleasure of your company. I do hope we'll be able to spend more time together."

"We will," Sarah reassured him, smiling. "I had a lovely time tonight."

"As did I," he replied, then turning to Marc and Christine and nodding. "I shall see you all tomorrow. Good evening to you."

Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

The instant the door was closed, Sarah rushed over to it and locked it, then whirled around to face Marc and Christine, her face flushing and her blue eyes lighting up.

"Oh, you won't believe what's happened!" Sarah squealed, jumping up and down and looking very much like someone who had just won the lottery.

"What is it?" Marc demanded. "Did he tell you he loves you or something?"

"No," she breathed, shaking her head rather wildly, "but... he kissed me!"

Christine looked shocked. Francois, her dignified, conservative friend, had kissed someone that he'd just started courting? He _had_ to be in love, then!

"Are you serious?" she demanded of her future sister - in - law. "He kissed you... truly kissed you, on the lips?"

"Yes!" Sarah giggled as if she was a little girl. "Isn't it so exciting?"

"Well, yes, but... isn't that rather fast? I mean, tonight was your first outing with him."

"Oh, don't be so silly, Christine," Marc retorted, grinning. "You and I hadn't even had an outing were we'd been courting when we shared our first kiss!"

"True," Christine admitted with a shrug, smiling back at him briefly before turning back to Sarah. "It is rather fast, though, still."

"I know it is, but..." Sarah reached out and grabbed Christine's hand, finishing, "oh, Christine, I don't care. He's such a kind gentleman, and I do like him so much! I believe I might love him someday!"

"Well, it seems that he already loves you," Christine said, squeezing Sarah's hands gently. "I'm very happy for you, Sarah - for both of you. I know that Francois has been quite lonely in his life, and I'm glad that he's found someone that he likes so much. Good luck to you both."

"Thank you," Sarah said happily, giggling and then pulling her hands out of Christine's grasp. "Well, it's rather late, isn't it? I suppose I'd better go get some rest so that I'm wide awake and alert when Francois arrives tomorrow! Have a good night's sleep, you two!"

Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned and rushed upstairs to her bedroom.

When the sound of her bedroom door closing came downstairs, Marc said to Christine, "Well, this is so wonderful. I don't think I've ever seen Sarah so happy. I'm glad she's found someone that she likes."

"As I'm glad that Francois has found someone he likes," Christine replied, smiling at him. "I do believe that there might be a second wedding at some point. It's quite obvious to me that Francois is in love. He and Sarah make a lovely couple, do they not?"

"Indeed... as do we," he said, grinning and kissing her. "Now, my dear, I do believe that we need to rehearse our wedding night more... would you like to do that?"

"I would." She took his hand and starting leading him back to where they'd come from. "Let us rehearse more."

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**A/N #2: Okay, I haven't gotten much feedback on the Sarah/Francois relationship. Now that it's been established, what do you guys think?**


	50. Chapter 50: Finally

**A/N #1: All right, ladies (and gentlemen, if there are any)... this is it. This is where our story's rating goes up to an 'M' due to Marc and Christine's wedding night. This means that, yes, they're finally getting married! I'm hoping that this chapter will be nice and long, as it starts just before the wedding and ends after the wedding night. I'm not going to be dividing the part of the wedding night where there's sex and then normal, so if you don't wish to read, then just skip when you find where it starts. Hope you enjoy! -wink-**

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Two weeks later, after finishing up the remainder of the meticulous planning, the day of Marc and Christine's wedding finally arrived. Everyone was at the church, getting ready for one of the biggest events to happen all year.

"Oof!" Christine grunted as Sarah attempted to tie Christine's corset (which she had chosen to wear despite Marc's protests) as tightly as possible without suffocating her. "Sarah, you're pulling too tightly."

"I'm sorry, Christine," Sarah grunted back as she pulled roughly on the strings of Christine's corset. "It's just hard with you being pregnant and all."

"Well, maybe Marc was right," Christine replied, taking a deep breath in order to try and put the air that Sarah was squeezing out back into her lungs. "Maybe I shouldn't be wearing a corset. It's terribly uncomfortable as it is, and the fact that I'm pregnant certainly doesn't help things."

"Oh, but you must!" Sarah protested, finally tightening the corset as much as possible and beginning to tie the strings together. "It will make things more exciting for the wedding night."

Christine's grey - green eyes widened in shock. "Why, Sarah Wellington! Why are you talking about such things?"

"Don't act so silly, Christine," Sarah replied, rolling her eyes at her soon - to - be sister - in - law. "It's only slightly obvious that you and Marc have already been intimate with each other. Only Mary experienced immaculate conception."

"I don't believe that, but if you say so." Christine let out another sigh and took her wedding dress in her hands, starting to put it on, and Sarah started helping her into it as well.

"Do I look all right? Do I?"

At the same time, Marc and Cameron were standing out in the chapel at the church, and Marc was pacing about nervously. His wedding wasn't far from starting, and though he was, of course, ecstatic, he couldn't help but be a bit anxious.

"You look fine," Cameron assured him, straightening his best friend's necktie a bit. "Christine will think that you look handsome. She already does, though, of course."

"How does she look?"

"How should I know?" Cameron asked, shrugging. "I haven't seen her at all since yesterday. But I'm sure she looks fine."

"I know she looks beautiful," Marc replied, sighing rather wistfully. "God, I love her, Cameron. I can hardly believe that I'm getting married to her - today! It's going to be wonderful."

"I'm sure it is." Cameron stepped a bit closer to his friend, lowering his voice as he asked, "Are you ready for tonight?"

Marc reddened. "That's none of your business, Cameron Luc," he retorted indignantly. "How dare you ask me such a thing!"

Cameron couldn't help but smile a bit as he put an arm around Marc's shoulders. "Oh, come on, Marcus. I'm your best mate, and we're men. Besides, it's obvious that you and Christine have already had relations. She's not the kind to be unfaithful or anything like that."

"I know that!"

"Just answer the question, Marc. Are you ready or not?"

"Well, there are some last - minute things which I'll have to do once we arrive at the honeymoon suite," Marc said reluctantly, wondering why on earth it was that he was telling his friend this, "but other than that, yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason," Cameron replied, and then they could say no more, for the procession music started, and Sarah and Emilie started walking inside the church, arms linked with men others than the ones that they liked (in Sarah's case with Francois) or loved (in Emilie's case with Cameron).

Once Sarah and Emilie, along with their escorts, had arrived at the altar, the bridal march began, and Christine and Francois then started walking down the aisle together, Christine's hand resting lightly on Francois's arm.

When he first saw his soon - to - be bride, Marc felt as if he had suddenly forgotten how to breathe. He had never seen the woman he singularly adored look more beautiful than she was now, walking towards him dressed in her gown made of silk and lace, a veil covering her masked face.

"She looks beautiful," he breathed to Cameron, letting out a somewhat dreamy sigh. "My God..."

As Francois and Christine arrived at the altar, he stepped to the side and stood there, waiting until it was time for him to give away his young friend, and Christine faced Marc, smiling somewhat shyly at him.

"Dearly beloved," the priest began, smiling at everyone in attendance, "we are gathered here today to witness the union of these two young people before me, Marcus and Christine, through holy matrimony. Before we begin, if anyone objects to the union of these two people, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

There was silence. Evidently, no one objected, or else they weren't saying anything.

"Good," the priest continued, his smile getting wider. "Now, who gives this woman to this man?"

"I do," Francois replied proudly, stepping forward and taking one of both Marc and Christine's hands in his and then joining them. He looked up at Marc. "I trust you'll take good care of her, Marc."

"I will," Marc promised, beaming over at Christine, who smiled back at him. Francois nodded and then took his seat in the front aisle.

"Very good," the priest said. "And now we shall take our vows. Do you have the rings?"

"I do," Cameron announced, stepping forward and handing Marc and Christine's wedding bands to their respective partner. Then he stepped back in his place behind Marc.

"All right, then. Now, Marc, you say your vows first," the priest instructed Marc.

Marc took Christine's left hand in his, glancing at the ring he held before looking up at the one who would shortly be wearing it. "Christine... I don't even know where to begin. It seems like only yesterday that you first showed up on my doorstep, a present from God. And now here we are, getting married and getting ready to start a family. I know you and I haven't even known each other for a year, but I know that we were meant to spend the rest of our lives together. You are the most talented, most wonderful, most beautiful young woman I've ever known, and I love you more than life itself." He then slipped the ring on her ring finger, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before letting go.

Christine swallowed back the huge lump that had suddenly risen in her throat, taking a deep breath and trying to make sure her tears didn't fall before beginning, "Marc, after the disaster I had with Cameron, who, by some freak coincidence, turned out to be your best friend, I never thought that I would love again. But then, a mere three days after, I met you. You showed me kindness and compassion even though I thought that I deserved none. And then I fell in love with you, and, despite the horrid thing that I made happen, you loved me, too. I never thought anyone would love me, but I see now that you care for me more than anyone else ever has. I'm sorry I ever doubted you. I hope that you never grow tired of me, because I don't think I'll ever stop loving you. I love you." She then took his hand and slipped his wedding band on his ring finger.

"Marcus James Wellington, do you take this woman, Christine Elizabeth Vasille, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?" the priest asked Marc.

"I do," Marc said, smiling at the woman he loved.

"Christine Elizabeth Vasille, do you take this man, Marcus James Wellington, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?" the priest asked Christine.

"I do," Christine whispered in reply, biting down on her lower lip so hard that she tasted blood in order to govern her tears.

The priest smiled widely as he closed his Bible. "I now pronounce you husband and wife." He turned to Marc. "You may now kiss your bride."

Marc slowly pulled back the veil from Christine's face, then tenderly taking her face in his hands. "I love you," he said softly to her, smiling.

"I love you, too," Christine replied, her eyes brimming with tears. After three years, she'd finally completed the promise she'd made to her father. She stepped closer to him as they shared a sweet, simple kiss.

When they broke apart, they turned to face the people who had attended the wedding, and the priest announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to be the first to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Marcus James Wellington."

At that, all in attendance applauded, and Marc and Christine shared another kiss.

"And now," Marc announced when he and Christine broke apart, smiling and taking one of Christine's hands in his, "I'd like you all to join us for a celebration. Let's off to the reception!"

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"A toast!" Cameron declared as everyone who had attended Marc and Christine's wedding sat around in a banquet hall not too far from the church, where the reception for the wedding was taking place. He raised his glass of wine. "To the bride and groom!"

"To the bride and groom!" the guests echoed, raising their glasses and taking a sip of their drink.

Christine discarded her wine and chose a nearby glass of water. "I may be French, but I'm only seventeen, and besides, I'm pregnant," she pointed out to Marc.

Marc laughed and wrapped an arm around her. "True. Oh, Christine, I'm so happy. We're finally married!"

"I know," she sighed contentedly, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes for a brief moment. "It's wonderful. All the same, I wish... I wish that my father was here. He'd have been so proud to see that I'm married."

"If only," he agreed. "I'd have liked to meet him."

"Marc, I miss him so much," she whispered, tears filling her eyes for what seemed like the millionth time that day. This time, though, they weren't tears of joy. "I really do."

"I know, love. I'm sorry," he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You and I can travel to Paris and visit him in the cemetery as often as you want, if that will make you feel any better."

Her face lit up as she looked up at him. "Really?" she inquired hopefully.

He nodded and smiled down at her. "Really."

"Oh, Marc, that would be wonderful!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him joyously and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'd love that. May we go sometime soon?"

"Whenever you like, my dear."

She smiled. "Thank you."

"You are most certainly welcome, love. Whatever makes you happy." He then paused, rising and offering a hand to her. "Now, Mrs. Wellington, may I have the pleasure of this dance?"

She smiled again and took his hand, standing up. "You certainly may, _Monsieur_ Wellington."

So they walked out to the center of the floor. He took one of her hands and placed his other hand on the middle of her back as she placed her free hand on his shoulder. Then they started dancing.

Everyone else in the banquet hall watched as the newly married couple danced, a few of them feeling rather envious. They'd never seen two people that age so in love. It was a wonderful sight to see.

"I love you," Marc said softly to his bride, looking deeply into her eyes.

Christine looked up at Marc and smiled at him, her eyes lighting up like they always did when he said that to her. "I love you, too."

After staring lovingly at each other for another moment, they kissed, holding it there for some time as they continued dancing. And when they broke apart, she rested her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat, and closed her eyes, hoping that he'd never let go.

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A few hours later, a horse - drawn carriage that Marc had ordered for the night pulled up in front of a small house in the country - a private cottage that the Wellington family had stayed at whenever they'd wanted to get away from the rush of London. Marc had decided that he and Christine would stay here for a few evenings before heading to Italy, where they would have a month - long honeymoon.

Marc looked down at his wife, who was snuggled up against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her eyes closed and her breathing even as she slept. She'd obviously had a tiring day.

Smiling and chuckling softly, he climbed out of the carriage, then leaned back in and scooped Christine up in his arms, quietly thanking the driver of the carriage for his services before making his way to the front door of the house, unlocking and opening the door while still holding onto Christine.

As he set her down on the sofa in front of the fireplace in the small parlor, she woke up suddenly, her eyes flicking open.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she sighed, stretching and rubbing her eyes. "That was terribly rude of me. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you, Marc. I thought that I'd closed my eyes for only a moment."

"It's all right, darling," he replied lovingly, leaning over her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You may sleep more, if you wish. I won't disturb you. I'll even carry you to our room if you don't want to sleep here."

"But what about... what about the activities we were going to participate in tonight?" she inquired, and she couldn't help but redden slightly.

He smiled and chuckled a little. "If you're tired, there's no point. It can wait another time, for when you're fully awake."

"I'm awake now!" she insisted, sitting up on the sofa and straightening herself. "Please, Marc, don't leave me alone. I want..."

As her voice trailed off, he grinned rather wickedly, feeling his arousal start to grow in his trousers. "You want what?" he inquired huskily. "Tell me, Christine... what is it that you want?"

She glanced up at him, and they could see the pure love and desire in the other's eyes. "I want you," she said softly. "I want you to make love to me, Marc. Please."

Grinning again, he pressed a desire - filled kiss to her lips, taking her breath away for a moment as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

When he chose to pull away, he looked deeply into her eyes for a brief moment, then started stepping backwards, away from her. "Wait here for a moment. I'll come back and get you. Don't get off of that sofa."

Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out of the parlor and down the hall, disappearing for several minutes.

When he returned, he smiled at her and then picked her up again, kissing her. "Shall we off to bed, then, my dear?"

"I never thought you'd ask," she replied, smiling back at him and giving him another kiss.

He then carried her out of the parlor and down the hall, stopping when he came to a closed door that was at the end of the hall - a room that was, she guessed, to be their bedroom while they were there.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, setting her down so that she stood on her feet.

She gave him a somewhat confused look for a moment, then shrugged, smiled a bit, and closed her eyes, covering her face with her hands just to make sure that she didn't see anything if she happened to open her eyes.

She heard the door to the bedroom open, and then she felt him grab one of her wrists, pulling her inside and then closing the door.

"All right," he then said in her ear as he stepped behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Open your eyes now."

She slid her hands off of her face and opened her eyes, looking around and seeing that in the few minutes that he'd been gone and left her in the parlor, he'd fancied up the bedroom. There were red rose petals scattered about everywhere, and candles were lit all around. She didn't think she'd ever seen a more lovely room.

"Oh, Marc, it's beautiful," she breathed, looking back at him and smiling. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for making this so special, even though it's not, really, I'm sure..."

"That's not true," he protested, putting a finger to her lips and smiling back at her. "Every time with you is special, even if it's the millionth time... or more like the twenty - sixth."

She didn't know what to say, so she simply gazed back at him, wondering again how on earth it was that she'd gotten lucky enough to get Marc.

"Now," he continued, grinning wickedly as he put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer, pressing himself against her so that she could feel his growing desire as he removed her mask and placed it down on a nearby bedside table, "I think that it's time we had our twenty - seventh time together - or our million and first time. Whichever you prefer to call it. Don't you agree?"

She smiled, sure that she looked like some sort of lovesick fool, which was what she was, really, and nodded.

"Good," he said softly, walking behind her and lightly stroking her back. "Now... this dress, beautiful as it is, is in the way... you don't mind if I remove it, do you?"

She couldn't help but roll her eyes slightly; he was such a silly person, even in the bedroom. "No, I don't mind at all."

Without replying, he starting unbuttoning the tiny buttons that were on the back of her dress, every so often pressing his lips against her shoulder, back, and neck as he did.

When the dress was completely unbuttoned, he slid it off of her body and took her shoulders, turning her around to face him. Then he kissed her, gently but passionately, as she reached out and started unbuttoning his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders as he shrugged it off the rest of the way.

After a moment, he pulled away from her, stepping back behind her and unlacing her corset, taking it off of her and then gently pushing her down onto the bed. As she lay flat on her back, he climbed on and came up to her, kissing her and reaching down, removing her underskirt and tossing it down onto the floor next to the rest of their discarded clothes.

When he'd then removed his trousers, he kissed her, then moving down from her lips to her neck, her breasts, her stomach, and then, finally, to the secret place between her thighs, the place that only he was allowed to touch.

"_Oh_," she sighed, biting down on her lower lip as pleasure rushed through her. "Marc..."

He then moved back up to her mouth, kissing her and getting on top of her, his erection now pressed against that secret place between her thighs, as she wrapped her legs around his waist and he wrapped his arms around her body.

He kissed her deeply as he entered her, causing her to moan softly into his mouth as he went as far in as he could go, wanting to get lost in her. Right now, there was only him and his new bride, and he planned on making love to her until he passed out from exhaustion.

As he moved around inside of her, she let out a soft, pleasured sigh and closed her eyes. She couldn't believe, even after all this time, that anyone would have ever been willing to physically love her, much less emotionally. She forever hoped that he would never stop loving her.

Then, suddenly, his felt his orgasm coming on, and he let out a soft groan. "Oh, Christine... God..."

She knew what he was feeling, as she suddenly felt it, too, and she whimpered softly. "Marc!"

They climaxed together, crying out in ecstasy and then clinging together as they relaxed and caught their breaths, their bodies still entwined, his head resting on her breast.

When they'd completely relaxed, he pulled away from her, kissed her, and then pulled out, rolling onto his back and then lying next to her, still holding onto her and then letting out a long sigh.

"Christine," he murmured, sighing again. "I love you so much."

She smiled softly. "I love you, too."

"Are you still tired?" he inquired, a smile hovering about his lips. "You said you were earlier."

She laughed a bit, but then suppressed a yawn. "Yes, sadly. May we sleep?"

"Of course, darling," he said indulgently, pressing a kiss to her cheek and then closing his eyes, sighing tiredly. "You just rest. You deserve all the rest that you need. I'll just see you in the morning - or whenever you wake up. Good night."

"Good night," she yawned, snuggling up to him and then closing her eyes. They soon fell asleep.

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**A/N #2: Please review... I'd like to see what you all think about the love scene.**


	51. Chapter 51: In Dreams He Came

Shortly after the newlyweds had fallen asleep due to their passion, Christine started to have a dream.

In her dream, she was walking around a place that looked something like a park - it contained benches, gardens, and other things that would normally be seen in parks. However, it wasn't a place that she recognized, and she wasn't sure what to think.

She glanced around and called out, "Marc? Are you here?"

There was no response. Evidently, Marc wasn't in this dream that she was having - that or he wasn't supposed to arrive yet.

Sighing and shrugging, she started walking around the park - like place a bit, exploring and trying to see if anyone that she knew was showing up. However, it seemed that she was quite alone in this place, and she found that though this place seemed harmless, she didn't like it that much. She wanted someone there with her.

"Marc!" she called out again, for some reason feeling fear start to rise up in her. "Marc, where are you? Marc, please - this isn't funny! Please come and get me!"

"Calm down, _ma fille_," a voice that belonged to a man who was not Marc replied calmly, and Christine circled around, looking for the source. "You have nothing to fear. You're perfectly safe."

Her eyes narrowed in confusion and suspicion. "Who are you?" she demanded. "Show yourself!"

"Why, Christine," the voice came again, suddenly right behind her, "has it been so long that you've forgotten your own father?"

She whirled around to face where the voice had come from and gasped, for there, right before her eyes, was Erik, dressed in the same black trousers, white button - up shirt, black vest, black jacket, and black cloak that he'd always worn while alive.

"_Father!_" she cried out joyously, running over to him and throwing her arms around him. She hugged him tightly as he laughed, even picking her up slightly and spinning her around a few times.

"Oh, Father - it's so good to see you!" she exclaimed when he'd set her down on the ground again, embracing him once more. "I've missed you so much."

"As I have missed you, my dear," he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and then pulling away from her slightly, his hands on her shoulders. He scanned her up and down, evidently not taking much notice of her bulging stomach, and smiled, pride shining on his face. "My, how you've grown. You've become a beautiful young woman."

She smiled softly. "Thank you. You look good, as well."

"Thank you. Forgive me for not coming to visit you much sooner," he continued. "I wanted to, truly, but you have no clue how busy I've been."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Busy?" she echoed. "Busy with what?"

"Well... oh, Christine, darling, I have so much to tell you," he said, suddenly sounding rather excited and sitting both of them down on a nearby bench. "You're probably not even going to believe it all!"

"What?" she demanded. "What's happened, Father?"

"Christine," he began, taking her hands in his and squeezing them tightly, "do you recall me telling you that there is no God?"

She nodded. "Yes, of course. You told me that all the time."

"Well, it was a lie!" he exclaimed, laughing suddenly. "I was telling you a bunch of lies when I told you that... not that I knew it at the time, of course. But now I know. Christine, there is a God. I've seen Him, and he knows me, he knows you - he knows everyone, Christine."

"So... you're in Heaven, then?" she inquired, raising her eyebrows. "Such a place exists?"

"Oh, it does indeed," he sighed, nodding, his grey - green eyes suddenly lighting up. "And yes, I am there. It's a wonderful place, darling - so beautiful... far grander than any building down on Earth. You believe me, don't you?"

She nodded slowly. "I do. I'm just surprised, I suppose."

"Life is full of surprises, my dear. I'm sure you know that." He paused, smiling at his daughter. "But enough about all of that now. Tell me about your life. Tell me everything that's happened to you in my absence."

"You haven't been watching me?" she asked, suddenly looking rather disappointed. "I guess you really _were_ busy, then."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Christine," he retorted. "Of course I've been watching you, but I want to talk to you about all of it. So tell me everything. I want to know what you have to say about all of it."

"Well, shortly after you died, I met a man named Francois Jannes," she began, smiling as she thought about her friend and father figure. "He became a very good friend of mine, and he even became a sort of second father to me - not that he could ever replace you, of course."

"Of course not, dear. Go on."

"Then I met Cameron - Cameron Luc. He was a chorister at the Opera... that's how I first saw him. He was practicing with the Men's Chorus one day, and I just... oh, I don't know. I became rather infatuated with him, I suppose. I was in love with him, and I even became his Angel of Music."

He smiled. "Like father, like daughter. I should have known that I'd be a heavy influence on you."

"Indeed. But then it just became so disastrous... oh, Father, it would take ages to explain all of it. But you saw how it all went down, didn't you - you saw everything that happened?"

"I did," he agreed, nodding. "I'm sorry that you went through so much pain. I saw how it all hurt you, and I wanted to help, but I didn't know how. I couldn't even help myself when everything happened to me with your mother and Raoul, so what good could I do for you?"

"Well, it might have helped to just have you there so I could have someone to talk about all of it to," she said, tears suddenly filling her eyes. "Francois became so angry with me for all of it, since I couldn't let go of Cameron. And those were the times that I needed you the most."

"I'm sorry, darling," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on top of her head as she snuggled close to him, hugging him tightly. "I should have been there for you. But I knew that you could get through it, even if you didn't have much help from me or anyone else. You're a very strong young woman, you know."

"I suppose," she said, shrugging as she pulled away from him and sighed. "But I did manage to be all right in the end, though. I let Cameron and Emilie - that's his wife now, you know - go, and then I left the lair, which was so hard, but I knew I had to do it. I knew I was going to get captured if I stayed, but I got captured, anyway. It was terrible, Father. How did you go through it for as long as you did? It happened to you for multiple years, didn't it?"

"It did," he replied, nodding gravely as sadness crept into his eyes. "It seemed like it went on for so long... but I survived, and, of course, so did you. We Vasilles are rather versatile, Christine; you and I especially are rather used to making things work for ourselves. We know how to survive."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding. Then a slow smile crept to her face as she thought about what came next in her story. "Then, when I escaped from my prison, I met someone... his name is Marc."

"Ah, yes," he replied, smiling back at her. "My son - in - law. I very much wish I could meet him, dear. He's a good man, it seems."

"Oh, he is," she sighed, her smile getting even wider. "I love him so much, Father, and he loves me, too."

"I can see that," he said, nodding down towards her stomach, where Marc's child was growing inside of her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, looking down and suddenly remembering that she was pregnant, wondering how it was that she'd even forgotten. She glanced up at him, going slightly red. "Yes, about that..."

"You're going to be a mother, Christine," he said softly, a smile coming to his face. He hugged her tightly, pressing a kiss to her unmasked, undeformed cheek. "I'm so proud of you. You're going to have a family!"

"So... you're not angry with me?" she inquired, raising her visible eyebrow in slight surprise. "I thought you would be."

"Of course not, _mon ange_. Why would I be?"

"Well, seeing as how far into my pregnancy I am... and I just got married earlier today... or maybe it was yesterday, now." She looked rather uncertain. "I thought that would make you angry."

"No, dear," he replied, smiling at her once again. "You've kept your promise to me. You've gotten married, and now you're going to have a child. Of course, I had rather thought that the conception of a child would come _after_ the marriage, but" - he sighed, shaking his head - "there's nothing to be done about that. People your age do things so quickly now, I suppose."

"I didn't know it would happen," she explained, looking apologetic. "I didn't even think about it when Marc and I started having relations... I didn't think that he and I would go so far as quickly as we did. I didn't know -"

"Hush," he interrupted her, placing a finger on her lips. He shook his head. "There's no need for you to be upset, nor do you need to explain yourself to me. I'm not angry with you. In fact, I feel quite the opposite."

"You do?" she asked, relaxing slightly. "You're... glad? Happy?"

He nodded and smiled. "Yes. I don't think I've ever been happier, or prouder of you, than I am right now. You don't know how pleased I am to be able to tell everyone up in Heaven that you're _my_ daughter, that I did something right while I was alive. And that something was raising you."

She felt relieved. "Oh. Thank you, Father."

"No, dear," he replied, shaking his head and smiling at her again. "Thank _you_ for becoming the woman I always knew you could become. You make me so proud, and I know that you're going to continue to do so."

She smiled and let out a soft sigh. "Okay. Good."

He chuckled a bit. Then he leaned forward slightly, placing one of his hands atop one of hers. "Now... tell me about my grandchild. Do you know what sex it is?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "Marc and I haven't bothered to find out, and we argue about whether it's going to be a boy or a girl all the time as a result. Marc thinks it's going to be a girl, but I think that it's going to be a boy."

"I see. And what shall you name it if it's a girl?"

"Madison - Madison Louise Wellington."

"That's a lovely name, I think," he replied, nodding. "And what about if it's a boy?"

"We're going to name him after you," she said, smiling at her father. "His name will be Erik Christopher Wellington."

"Oh, don't name your child after_me_, dear," he scoffed, waving it away. "Give him an original name; don't name him after his old, dead grandfather - if the child is, in fact, a boy."

"It will be," she replied, sounding very sure of herself. "He's going to be a boy... and I really want to name him after you. Would you really be bothered if I did?"

"I wouldn't be bothered, but I don't think that you should forever name your children after relatives - after all, you were named after your mother, and I think that if you named your son after me, it would become a vicious cycle. It would never end." He paused. "If the child is a girl and her name is Madison... is there someone named Madison in Marc's family?"

"Not that I know of," she admitted, shrugging. "I just think he rather likes the name. So do I, but I firmly believe that this child is a boy."

"Well, I suppose you'll have to find out when it's born, won't you?" he replied, smiling down at her.

"Do you know what sex it is, Father?" she inquired, looking up at him very intently. "If you know, then you could put my argument with Marc to rest. He might think I'm mad if I tell him that you told me, of course, but -"

"I'm not going to tell you," he interrupted, cutting her off. "I'm can't see into the future, first off, so I don't know what sex my grandchild is. Second, I wouldn't tell you if I knew. It would ruin the element of surprise. You'll find out soon enough, anyway."

She nodded and shrugged. "All right, then."

He nodded, then pulled a pocketwatch out of one of the pockets in his vest. "Well, it's getting rather late - actually, it's getting to be rather early in the morning. I'd best be getting back," he said, rising from the bench.

"Do you have to?" she asked sadly, rising as well, feeling tears start to form in her eyes. "I want to spend so much more time with you."

"Don't worry, my dear," he said reassuringly, gently stroking her unmasked, undeformed cheek and smiling at her. "It won't be so long before you and I see each other again this time."

"Promise?" she inquired, biting her lower lip. She felt like she was going to cry.

"I promise, _mon ange_," he replied, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And remember - whether you and I see each other or not, I'm always watching over you. I'm looking out for you. Know that."

She nodded and sighed, preparing herself to say goodbye to her father once again - for the time being, at least.

"I've got to go, Christine," he said, cutting into her thoughts. "You need to sleep now, anyway."

"Aren't I asleep right now, though?"

"Yes, but you need to sleep without dreams or nightmares now. You don't need anything or anyone else cutting in. That's my privilege and mine alone. It's how you and I will stay connected."

She nodded. "Okay. Goodbye, Father."

"Goodbye, Christine."

"Marc and I are coming to visit your grave at the cemetery soon!" she called as he turned and started walking away from her. She tried to run after him, but her feet suddenly seemed stuck to the ground. "Will I see you there?"

"Perhaps. Take care, darling!" he called back as he turned around and started walking backwards, waving to her and then blowing a kiss in her direction.

"I will, Father," she whispered, sighing happily to herself. "I will."

And then the dream was over.

As Christine slept, a small smile spread across her face, and she continued sleeping without dreams or nightmares, secure in the knowledge that she was loved and that her father was proud of her and watching over her.

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**A/N: So, tell me, my darling readers - how did you like my appearance by Erik? Tell me in a review!**


	52. Chapter 52: In the Cemetery

**A/N #1: Hello, readers! After almost two months, I've finally gotten through my writer's block with this story. Thanks to ****The Duelist's Heiress**** for helping me make up my mind on what to write about next... and I also thank her for putting ****The Phantom's Daughter**** in her C2 community, Masks and Sides! I feel so privileged!**

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_One Month Later - Paris_

A carriage pulled up to the front gate at the cemetery that Christine had frequented whenever visiting Erik's grave and then came to a halt.

The door to the carriage opened, and Marc stepped out, stepping onto the ground and then turning back to the carriage, extending a hand towards the inside of the carriage. A hand from inside the carriage took it, and Christine stepped out of the carriage with Marc's assistance.

Marc hadn't thought it possible, but Christine had gotten even rounder in the past month, and it wasn't because of all the rich food that she and Marc had eaten while honeymooning in Italy. She had had to have the waistline on all of her dresses altered so that she would be able to fit into them, and Marc noted that whenever she walked, she had a slight waddle. He found it funny and endearing, and for this reason, he normally stood behind her when she walked so that he could watch her and chuckle to himself about it.

"The sooner this baby is born, the better," Christine sighed rather irritably as she placed both feet on the ground and closed the carriage door behind her, the carriage driving away as she did. "I'm ridiculously uncomfortable all of the time."

"Well, I think you look adorable," Marc murmured affectionately, pressing a kiss to her unmasked, undeformed cheek and chuckling a bit. "I think I rather like you being pregnant... we'll have to try for another child once we've had this one."

She looked shocked for a brief moment, then slapped him on the chest. "Absolutely not, Marcus. I want a number of _years_ in between this child and a second one, which means that I might have to deny you for a while."

"Oh, you wouldn't do that to me... would you?" he finished, raising his eyebrows at her doubtfully.

"No," she sighed resignedly after a moment, silently scolding herself for lacking enough power to resist him for long. She then glanced at the gate of the cemetery, her facial expression suddenly becoming very serious. "Now let's go, shall we?"

Then, without another word, she started walking forward, and he stood there, looking after her, for a moment so that he could see her waddle.

However, after a moment, she glanced to the side that she thought he would be on and saw he wasn't there. She then turned back to where he was still standing and noticed that he was watching her very intently.

"What are you looking at?" she inquired, cocking her visible eyebrow at him.

"Oh... nothing," he said casually, stepping up to her so that they were side by side and taking her hand in his. "Lead the way, darling."

She nodded and then faced forward once again, and they walked through the cemetery gate hand in hand, neither of them saying a word as they looked at all of the graves that were around them.

"This place makes me nervous," he then said suddenly, shivering slightly. "I've never liked cemeteries, and now I've just remembered why. I'm surrounded by the dead."

"You ought to be glad you're not one of them," she said rather absently, her face then lighting up slightly as she saw that Erik's grave was about twenty steps ahead of them. "And there's my father right there."

He, too, glanced ahead. "The mausoleum right in front of us, you mean?"

"That's the one, yes."

They then came to the steps of Erik's grave and stopped, looking up at it while still holding onto each other's hands.

"What a magnificent little building," he then said in awe. He glanced over at his wife, who didn't bother to look back at him. "I imagine you know who built this?"

"I did," she replied, giving him a side glance of acknowledgment before continuing to stare at the place where her father was buried.

"You?" he inquired incredulously, looking up at the grave and pointing at it. "You're telling me that you built that... I didn't know that you could construct a building like that!"

"Well, I didn't really build it, I suppose," she said with a shrug. "However, I was the creator of it. I designed it and then hired some stonemasons to build it for me. I watched over the construction to make sure everything was made the way I wanted it."

He shook his head. "And how old were you when your father died, exactly?"

"I'd just turned fourteen about a month before. It's been three years since he died now."

"You did that when you were fourteen," he said softly, sounding awestruck and rather sad at the same time. "In a mere fourteen years, you'd lost your mother, your father, built a mausoleum, become an infamous ghost... my life wasn't anything like that when I was that age."

"Be glad it wasn't," she murmured, sighing and then swallowing hard as tears came to her eyes because she remembered what it had been like after her father had died. "Even when I was relatively happy, it was Hell."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he whispered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing his cheek against one of hers. "I'm sorry for all that's happened to you, love. I wish that I'd known you then... I would have at least tried to help you."

"Well, you know me now," she replied, sniffing and running a hand across her eyes to get rid of the tears that were there. "My life is vastly improved because of it."

"Yes, it is," a new voice, a man's voice, came from behind the wedded pair, and they turned to see Erik standing there. He nodded to Marc. "Thank you, Marcus, for saving my angel."

Marc's jaw dropped open, and he pointed at Erik. "I... I, er..."

"So you see him, too?" Christine asked Marc softly.

"Well, yes," Marc replied, nodding. He then stepped forward, walking away from Christine and towards his dead father - in - law.

"Mr. Vasille, I'm sure you already know this, but I'm Marcus Wellington," he said somewhat awkwardly, extending a hand to Erik while mentally wondering if the dead could shake hands with the living. "I'm... married to your daughter."

"Indeed you are," Erik agreed, smiling and shaking Marc's hand. Marc could have sworn that he was imagining things, for he was certain that he felt Erik's hand taking his in a firm, warm grip. "You're also the father of my unborn grandchild."

"Yes, I am," Marc replied, smiling at Erik and then turning to Christine, who smiled back at him.

Erik silently glanced from Marc to Christine and saw the love in the young man's eyes. "She's really something, isn't she?"

"Oh, yes," Marc sighed in agreement, and his smile grew even wider as he turned back to his father - in - law. "She's extraordinary, sir. You're very fortunate to have her for a daughter."

"I am... and you're very fortunate to have her for a wife." Erik raised his eyebrows at Marc. "You_will_ take care of her for me, won't you... her and the baby, as well as any other children that might come along?"

"Absolutely, sir," Marc replied instantly, nodding fervently. "I'll do my best to ensure that no harm ever comes to her. You can count on me for that."

"I'm certain that I can," Erik said, nodding to Marc and then glancing over at his daughter, who had silently been observing this whole thing. "Christine, _mon ange_, come here to us."

Christine smiled and walked over to the two most important men in her life, silently thrilled that they were both standing in the same space. Marc had wanted to meet her father, and now he had. She was glad.

"I had a little talk with God," Erik continued, pressing one of his cheeks to one of hers and murmuring in her ear quietly, "and you'll be pleased to know that you're going to have a son that, if you wish, you could name after me. Don't tell Marc, though... let's keep it a surprise for him, shall we?"

A wide, satisfied smile spread across her face, and she nodded to her father as he pulled away from her. "I will. Thank you, Father."

"You're welcome." Erik then paused and let out a sigh. "And now, you two, I must be going. I suggest that you two do the same... I'm sure you've got infinitely better things to do than come and visit me."

"Well, Christine insisted," Marc said, shrugging. "I couldn't refuse."

"I see. Now that you've come, though, you should get on your way. Go spend some time alone with each other... be glad you have each other," Erik continued, sadness flickering in his eyes for a brief moment.

He then pressed a kiss to Christine's forehead and shook Marc's hand, then silently waved them away.

"Let's go, love," Marc said to his wife, taking her hand in his and starting to lead her away from Erik.

"Goodbye, Father," Christine said to Erik, looking back at him for a moment as she and Marc walked away. "I'll miss you!"

"I'm never far away from you, darling," Erik reassured her, smiling and waving at her. "I'll see you again soon!"

For another moment, she looked behind her and observed her father, but then she turned and faced forward, walking ahead with Marc without looking back. Erik was right - it was time for them to be alone together.

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**A/N #2: Yay... another visit from Erik! -tosses confetti- What did you guys think?**


	53. Chapter 53: New Things

_Three Months Later_

"So the scenery fell down on Pablo, and of course he was furious. The managers starting shouting accusations at Francois, who saw that I had done it and was surely going to kill me later. The look on his face when he saw me standing there, laughing in the corner, was indescribable! I just couldn't stop laughing... I even went back down to the lair and laughed for another fifteen minutes!"

Cameron, Emilie, Francois, Sarah, Marc, and a very pregnant Christine all laughed as Christine told Sarah and Marc of a time that Cameron, Emilie and Francois especially remembered - a time when a much unhappier Christine had actually laughed.

She had laughed, but not nearly as much as she laughed now. Of the five sitting at a table on the back yard of Wellington Estates, Christine was the one laughing the loudest.

"I think, perhaps, that _I_ can imagine what he looked like," Sarah said fondly, squeezing one of Francois's hands that she was holding and looking at him with undisguised adoration before turning to Christine and pulling a face. "It was something like that, wasn't it?"

Christine laughed. "Yes, that's exactly what he looked like! It was just the funniest thing that had happened to me in quite some time!"

All five of the people sitting at the table laughed, and then, when the laughter had subsided, Francois cleared his throat and rose, still holding onto Sarah's hand while she remained seated.

"I have an announcement to make," he said seriously, looking down at Sarah and smiling at her, and she smiled back at him. "Just two evenings ago, I asked this lovely woman, whom I love very much, for her hand in marriage. And I don't know exactly why, but she has accepted."

"That means that you and I are going to be in - laws now, Francois!" Christine exclaimed, smiling up at her friend and father figure. "What a wonderful piece of news. Congratulations to both of you."

"A toast, then!" Cameron declared, rising as Francois seated himself once again. He raised his glass of champagne. "To Sarah and Francois, who are sure to lead a wonderful life together."

"To Sarah and Francois," everyone else echoed (except for Sarah and Francois), raising their glasses of champagne (or, in Christine's case, water) and then drinking from them.

As everyone then set down their glasses, an infant's cry was heard from inside the Wellington residence, and Cameron and Emilie looked at each other and sighed, shaking their heads at the same time.

"That'll be Mr. I-have-to-be-in-on-everything, then," Cameron said, referring to Laurent, his and Emilie's month - old son, who always woke up when something exciting was going on with the adults. He rose from his seat. "I'll go and make him think he's not missing anything."

Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked towards the house, heading inside. Emilie rose and followed him, saying something about Laurent possibly being hungry.

"I hope you'll take good care of my friend/my sister, Sarah/Francois," Christine and Marc said at the same time, Christine speaking to Sarah and Marc speaking to Francois.

"Oh, I'll handle him," Sarah replied to Christine in a joking tone, looking at Francois and kissing his cheek. "He'll be completely taken care of by me."

"And I, of course, will do the same for Sarah," Francois said to Marc, cupping Sarah's chin, turning her face so that their eyes met, and then gently kissing her.

They held it there for several moments, and in that time, Christine and Marc looked at each other and smiled, glad that two of the people they cared for had found each other.

"All right, then," Cameron announced as he arrived back at the table. "Emilie is inside feeding Laurent, and that always makes him fall asleep, so she ought to be back out in just a moment. Is anyone up for something more to eat or drink?"

"No, I think I'm fine... _oh!_" Christine exclaimed suddenly, her grey - green eyes widening as she grabbed Marc's arm tightly.

"What's wrong?" Marc inquired as the other three standing there looked at her worriedly. He placed a hand on top of the hand that was squeezing his arm. "Are you all right, love?"

"No," Christine replied, her voice lowering to a thin whisper, and she turned to her husband, looking slightly alarmed and slightly afraid at the same time. "I... I think my water just broke."

"Your water just broke?" Marc echoed, his eyes widening as hers just had. He glanced down and saw that, indeed, part of her dress was wet. "Oh, dear God... that means the baby's coming!"

"Mmm - hmm," Christine said, nodding as she looked even more nervous. A pained expression then crossed her face, and she let out a gasp, squeezing her eyes shut. "Oh! Go get the doctor, someone! Hurry up!"

"Cameron, please - go!" Marc exclaimed, looking up at his friend. "I'm going to take her upstairs. _Run!_"

Nodding silently, Cameron then turned and ran, not even going inside the house and instead running around it to find the nearby doctor who had been looking after Christine during her pregnancy.

"All right, love, come here," Marc then said to Christine, scooping her up in his arms with a bit of effort and then quickly carrying her inside the house. Sarah and Francois followed.

As the four then entered the house, Marc carried Christine upstairs as Sarah and Francois remained downstairs, then carrying her into one of the guest bedrooms and setting her down on the bed in a sitting position, moving the covers out of the way so they wouldn't bother her.

"Can I get you anything?" he inquired, placing a hand on her shoulder and noting with slight unease that her face became a deeper shade of red with each passing moment. He started to step back from her. "Water... anything?"

"No!" she moaned, taking a deep breath and then grabbing his free hand in one of hers, squeezing it tightly as the other hand gripped the bedsheets. "Just... stay here. Oh, I'm so afraid!"

And then, much to his shock, she started crying.

"No, no, no, don't be afraid!" he replied reassuringly, sitting down next to her and pressing a kiss to the hand that he was holding. "You're going to be fine. I promise."

She looked up at him and sniffed. "Really?"

"Really," he said with a smile, smiling and kissing her hand again. "It's going to be okay."

"Mr. and Mrs. Wellington?" a new voice said, and the married couple looked to the doorway to see Dr. Ernest Chancey, the doctor who had been taking care of Christine while she had been pregnant, and a nurse, standing there. Cameron was right next to him.

"Oh, thank God you're here, Doctor," Marc sighed with relief, letting go of Christine's hand and walking over to the doctor, shaking his hand. "My wife's water has broken."

"That's what I hear," the doctor said with a smile, walking over to Christine, who was trying to take deep breaths and stay calm. "Are you ready, Mrs. Wellington?"

Biting her lower lip, Christine looked up at him and shook her head. "No," she whispered.

"Ah, you'll be fine," he reassured her, smiling down at her warmly. He then motioned the nurse forward. "Now, to make things easier, I think it would be best if we removed your mask. It might help you feel a little cooler without it covering your face - or, at least, part of it."

"No," she protested, shaking her head fervently and looking over at Marc anxiously as her face paled. "No, I don't want... I don't want you to see."

"Mrs. Wellington, I don't know what you look like underneath your mask, but I assure you that it's nothing that I haven't seen before. Please - it will most likely be easier for you to breathe without it."

Christine looked like she was going to protest, but then she sighed and squeezed her eyes shut, then reached up with one hand and removed her mask, placing it down on the nearby bedside table and then opening her eyes, keeping her gaze down at the blankets so that she wouldn't have to see the doctor's or the nurse's reaction.

"Very good," the doctor said, his expression not betraying any horror as he placed a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed it as the nurse filled a syringe with some liquid and injected into Christine's arm. "The medicine you're being given now is going to help with the pain a little."

He then looked over at Marc and continued, "Now, Mr. Wellington, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room at this time."

Marc shook his head. "I want to stay here with my wife."

"I understand, sir, but we need as much room as possible in here. I promise you that nothing will go wrong, all right?"

Marc uncertainly looked over to Christine, who simply shrugged and gave him a weak smile, from the doctor for a moment before sighing resignedly and nodding. "All right. I'll be downstairs if you need me for anything."

Then, without another word, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, and made his way downstairs and into the parlor, where Cameron, Emilie, Francois, and Sarah were sitting.

"They asked me to leave," he muttered rather crossly, sighing heavily and sitting down next to Cameron on the sofa. "That doesn't mean that anything's wrong, right?"

"Not at all," Cameron reassured Marc, patting his friend's shoulder. "They asked me to leave when Emilie had Laurent. They just want to make sure that, in case something does go wrong, they have enough room to move about and take care of things. But I'm sure she'll be all right."

"_Foutre!_" they all heard Christine shout suddenly from upstairs, causing them all to glance upstairs.

"That's exactly what I said," Emilie said, looking over to Cameron as they both chuckled and smiled at each other. "I was blaming Cameron for the pain that I was feeling right then. I'm sure Christine is doing the same thing concerning you, Marc."

"Oh, wonderful," Marc said sarcastically.

Then they heard Christine let out a long, loud howl of pain, and after a moment, her cries mingled with the cry of a newborn baby.

"Oh!" Marc exclaimed, his brown eyes lighting up as he rose from the sofa and looked upwards. "It's here! The baby is here!"

For a moment more, the five who were downstairs simply looked upwards in anticipation, and then they heard the sound of footsteps and saw Dr. Chancey descending the staircase.

"Congratulations, Mr. Wellington," he said to Marc, beaming at him as he walked over to him and extended his hand to him. "You have a son."

"A son," Marc echoed, a slow smile starting to spread across his face as he took the doctor's hand and shook it. "She was right, then."

He then looked up at the doctor. "Are they both all right?"

"They're fine, sir," the doctor reassured the new father, smiling. "You may come up and see them now, if you'd like. Everyone else may come up in a few moments."

Then, without another word, and two turned and walked upstairs, heading towards the room where Christine and the new Wellington child were with the nurse, who, when they entered the room, was holding a small bundle in her arms.

"Congratulations, Mr. Wellington," the nurse said to Marc with a smile, holding the bundle out to him.

Marc took the bundle from her and then looked down, seeing a little red face amidst the covers. There was nothing imperfect about this face, either - it looked as normal as most everyone's face.

Smiling down at the son he was holding in his arms for a moment, Marc then looked over to the bed. Christine was now in a lying position, her eyes closed. Her mask was still off.

He walked over to the bed and sat down next to her, holding his son in one arm while reaching out with his other hand and placing a hand on her shoulder, not knowing if she'd already fallen asleep. "Christine?"

Her eyes immediately opened, and she looked over at him, smiling tiredly. "I _told_ you we were going to have a son."

"Indeed you did," he agreed, holding the bundle that was their son out to her. "Here - you hold him."

She took their son from him and held him close, and when she looked down and saw that the child hadn't inherited her cursed face, tears of relief filled her eyes.

"Oh, thank God," she whispered, sighing and pressing a soft kiss to her son's forehead. She then looked up at Marc. "He's going to lead a normal life. He won't live the way I did."

"Yes, he will, and no, he won't." Marc then paused for a moment before smiling at his wife. "So, I suppose that this child's name is Erik - Erik Christopher Wellington, just like you wanted him to be named."

"Mmm - hmm," she replied with a smile, looking down at her son again as her smile grew even wider. "Erik."

**A/N #1: Woo - hoo! -tosses confetti- There's a new Erik in the house!**

**A/N #2: All right, ladies (and gentlemen, if there are any), this is the next-to-last chapter. Actually, this **_**is**_** the last chapter - next chapter is the epilogue. It's all almost over!**


	54. Epilogue

_Five Years Later_

"Don't run too fast, now! You might trip and hurt yourself..."

That was Christine, calling out to her and Marc's five - year - old son and worrying herself over his well - being as he ran through a park in London, where the Wellington family was taking a walk.

At five, Erik was a mix of Marc and Christine in looks, with brown hair and grey - green eyes. He had Christine's long, slender fingers, which were perfect for playing the piano - a talent that he had inherited from his mother. However, he'd inherited a worse version of Marc's voice, as he couldn't sing to save his life.

"Oh, hush," Marc sighed, smiling and shaking his head as he took his wife's hand in his and gently squeezed it. "He's never going to do anything great or fun if you don't allow him to hurt himself once in a while. If he falls, he'll cry for a minute, and once you kiss it and make it better, he'll get up and start running around again - perhaps going a little slower than the first time."

Christine frowned. "But he'll still be running. He'll have missed the entire point, the reason that he got hurt. It's ineffective. So if I just tell him to stop running now, he'll be better off." She paused, then called out, "Watch out, Erik! Don't run into your sister!"

Erik wasn't the only Wellington child now. Just as Christine had wished, she and Marc had waited two years before trying for another child, and the result had been Madison, meaning that Marc had gotten the daughter he'd wanted in the first place. Despite the fact that she was only three, she was very beautiful, with jet - black waves that went down to her shoulders and grey - green eyes. She was a miniature version of what Christine would have looked like if she'd been born without a deformity, and Marc was sure that he was going to have to be very protective of her whenever she got older. She was also exactly like Christine in musical talent, with the ability to both play the piano and sing.

However, his mother's warning came too late, for Erik ran smack into Madison, knocking her down on the ground as he fell himself.

"Ow!" Madison cried out, her face reddening and crumpling as she started to cry. She pointed accusingly at her older brother and turned to her parents. "Mama! Daddy! Erik made me fall - on purpose!"

"Did _not!_" Erik protested indignantly, grabbing a tiny nearby rock and throwing it at Madison's head. "You're lying!"

"Erik, don't throw a rock at your sister!" Marc said sternly, suddenly becoming protective of his baby girl as he left his wife's side and rushed over to the siblings to pick up a still - crying Madison. He looked over at Christine, who was taking her time walking over to her family. "Christine, do something about him while Maddie and I get some ice cream."

"Can I have ice cream, too?" Erik called after his father, who was already walking away with Madison in his arms, hopefully.

"No, you may not," Christine replied for her husband, sitting down in the grass next to her son and bracing herself for her son's soon - to - be - oncoming temper, something that he'd inherited from her as well as from the original Erik, his grandfather. "Now, tell me why you threw a rock at Madison's head."

"Because she was lying to you and Daddy!" Erik huffed, folding his arms across his chest in the same way that Christine did when she was irritated. "She said I knocked her down on purpose and I didn't."

"I know that, but you should have just told Daddy and me that she wasn't being honest. We already knew that what you did was an accident - although I _did_ tell you to quit running and to not run into her," she added sternly.

He opened his mouth to protest, but then he thought better of it and looked down at the ground, drawing a design in the grass. "I suppose you're right," he agreed reluctantly.

"Of course I'm right. I'm your mother." She paused. "Now, when Daddy and Madison come back, what are you going to do?"

"Tell her I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"Knocking her down, even though it was an accident," he said, saying this last with a hint of bitterness in his tone. He cleared his throat. "And for throwing a rock at her, even though it probably didn't hurt her."

"That's right... but leave out the _even thoughs_ in your apology, all right?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Very good," she replied, ruffling his hair a bit and then kissing the top of his head. Then she looked out in the direction that Marc and Madison had left in. "And look - here they come right now."

"I got you some chocolate," Marc informed Christine, holding out a cone of chocolate ice cream to her, which she took. He then set Madison, who was already about halfway through her vanilla cone, down on the ground in a standing position and gave Erik a look, knowing that his wife had told him to apologize to Madison.

Erik let out a soft sigh and stood up, speaking the words that were, to him, the most difficult in the English language to speak. "I'm sorry, Maddie. I didn't mean to knock you down, and I shouldn't have thrown that rock at your head."

Madison looked at Erik for a moment, looking as if she didn't know what he was talking about, and then she shrugged. "Okay."

Knowing that his apology had been accepted, Erik smiled with satisfaction, then leaned forward and kissed Madison on the cheek. At the same time, he reached out for her ice cream cone.

"Erik Christopher Wellington!" Marc said sharply, causing Erik to jump and stop his attempt at theft. "No ice cream for you, young man!"

"But Daddy, I apologized!" Erik cried out helplessly. "I said I was sorry like I was supposed to - and I meant it, too!"

"I appreciate that, but you're still not getting any ice cream," Marc replied. "You have the suffer the consequences of your actions." He paused, giving Christine a glance. "And your mother won't be giving you any, either."

Erik opened his mouth and looked ready to protest, but then Christine shook her head so quickly that only he noticed, telling him not to press the matter further, since it would only get him in more trouble with his father. So he let out a resigned sigh and hung his head, walking over to his mother and holding onto her hand as the family started to walk together, three of the four of them eating ice cream.

"Ooh, look - it's Laurent!" an ice cream - coated Madison shrieked, pointing ahead and allowing her family members to see that the Luc family - Cameron, a very pregnant Emilie, and Laurent - were just ahead. Laurent was Erik's best friend, but Madison didn't mind associating with her icky older brother if it meant spending time with Laurent, as she had a big crush on him.

Without any delay and without caring that she had ice cream all over her face, Madison dropped her ice cream cone and took off, running towards Laurent and his family and screaming Laurent's name delightedly.

"Could I go, too, Mama?" Erik exclaimed, tugging on Christine's arm and looking up at her beseechingly. "I want to play with Laurent, and I said I was sorry to Maddie! Could I go? _Please?_"

"Well, I don't know," Christine replied, looking over at Marc. "It's all right with me if it's all right with your father."

"Daddy, may I please go play with Laurent?" Erik begged. "I'm really, really sorry for making Maddie fall and throwing a rock at her! I already didn't have ice cream with everyone else!"

For a moment, Marc was silent as he simply looked at his son, but then he finally sighed and nodded. "Oh, all right. Go on ahead."

At this, Erik loud out a loud cheer and immediately released his hold on Christine's hand, bolting towards his best friend and his sister. When he'd reached them, he said something to them, and they immediately ran off together.

"Stay close together!" Marc and Christine heard Cameron call out to the three children in a rather worried tone. "We don't want one of you getting lost or kidnapped because you were too far away from the other two!"

"Oh, Cameron," Emilie sighed, shaking her head and lightly patting her husband's arm. "You worry too much about them. This is a very safe place to live. There hasn't been a crime here in decades!"

"I know, but all it takes is one fool..."

However, he was cut short as Emilie pressed her lips to his and wrapped her arms around his neck. He relaxed visibly and placed his hands on her waist as Marc and Christine approached them.

"Get a room, won't you?" Marc joked to his best friend and his wife, nudging Cameron forward slightly and causing the couple to almost fall over onto the ground.

"Oh, I see!" Cameron exclaimed, pretending to look annoyed. "I never tell you and _your_ wife to stop being affectionate towards each other, but it's all right if you do it to me and mine?"

"That's right," Marc agreed, still joking, and then the four adults started laughing.

"What is everyone laughing at?" another man's voice demanded, and the four turned around to see Francois and Sarah there, carrying their newborn fraternal twins, Elise and Brendan.

"Mind your business, old man," Christine joked, stepping forward and kissing Francois on each of his cheeks. Then she took Elise's tiny hand and smiled at her. "Hi there, _tout petit_ (little one)."

Elise cooed and give Christine an adorable baby smile, which caused everyone to go, "_Aww_..."

"She likes you!" Francois said happily, giving his young friend a smile. "I knew she would. You're very easy to like, you know, _mon ami_."

Christine let out a soft sigh. "Well, she won't like me when she finds out what I look like underneath this" - she tapped her mask with one finger.

"Oh, good God, Christine," Cameron groaned, rolling his eyes slightly. "All of the other children have seen your face and they don't care. The twins are still going to love you, and so will the baby that Emilie and I are about to have."

"Gain a little self - esteem, please, darling," Marc continued, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "No one likes you when you shoot yourself down the way you are now."

"Hmm," she murmured, letting out a sigh and running her fingers through her hair. Then she took her husband's hand. "Well, never mind it now. Let's stay close to the children now."

"All right," he agreed, smiling and pressing a kiss to her unmasked, undeformed cheek.

Then the three couples all started walking together, keeping close to the children.

**--**

**A/N: All right, ladies (and gentlemen, if there are any) - this is the end! That is... unless... you want there to be a "threequel"?**


	55. Author's Note

**Dear Readers,**

**Here's the deal. There are some changes being made.**

**I was going to revise and edit ****The Phantom's Daughter**** and ****No More Darkness**** and then begin writing ****My Ending, Her Beginning****. But out of boredom, I come up with tons of alternate versions of all my stories, and the ****Phantom's Daughter**** series has been no exception. At first, I was just playing with this concept for the series that I had and coming up with things that would happen, but then I started writing it all down. And now I've come to totally love it.**

**Therefore, the ****Phantom's Daughter**** series is being abandoned here on FanFiction and the alternate version which I've come up with will be posted on deviantART as a story titled ****La Fille de Son Père**** (which is French for ****Her Father's Daughter****). If you'd like to read this story, which will be totally awesome and infinitely better than the ****Phantom's Daughter**** series here on FanFiction, then PM me and I'll be sure to let you know when it's up... and I'm thinking it won't be too long from now before it's up, 'cause I've done a lot of prewriting and excerpts and I think I'm just about ready to finally start it.**

**That is all.**

**Your obedient servant, friend, and authoress,**

**LovetheScottishAngel**


	56. Author's Note II: Important! Please Read

**Dear Readers,**

**I want to apologize for basically disappearing off the face of the Earth. I know you all were expecting to receive a notification about ****La Fille de Son Père**** being on deviantART, like, a year or so ago. Believe me, I haven't been lazy—or, at least, I haven't been as lazy as I'm sure you all think I have been. I have written… but it hasn't been in as consistent a manner as I might have hoped. For some amount of time, my writing (and my motivation to write) has really been doing a peak-and-valley rollercoaster-esque… thing. I used to be at the point where if I wasn't motivated to write, I wasn't motivated for quite some time. But now I actually want to write on a much more consistent basis! Yay me.**

**Anyway, now on to the whole point of this note. After coming up with not only one, but two more incarnations of the ****Phantom's Daughter**** series, I've decided that I'm pretty much going to abandon ****La Fille de Son Père**** and instead work on these new incarnations. And let me tell you something, guys—I thought ****La Fille de Son Père**** was going to be awesome and I thought I was excited about writing it. And maybe it would have been had I been motivated enough to continue writing it instead of deciding to start scribbling down these two new incarnations. But if I thought ****La Fille de Son Père**** was going to be good, then these two incarnations are going to be absolutely incredible. And if I was excited about writing ****La Fille de Son Père**** and sharing it with you guys, then I'm abso-freakin'-lutely enthusiastic about doing such with these incarnations! And since I can't decide which incarnation I really prefer (since I like them both for their own reasons), I'm going to write and post both of them.**

**I don't know what either incarnation is going to be entitled, but I can tell you that both of them are going to be a totally different ballgame from the ****Phantom's Daughter**** series. Each story will be dark and angsty the vast majority of the time (I've grown into such an angst-lover; I feel like putting my characters through Hell gives them such better development). And I feel as if they're both so much more original than the ****Phantom's Daughter**** series! (Especially ****The Phantom's Daughter****… which I now feel is not much more than gender-switching **_**Phantom**_**. I disgust myself thinking about it.)**

**I could go on and on and explain the differences between the incarnations to you, but why do that when I could just let you read them?**

**Now, hear this. It will take time for me to upload these incarnations. I've already started on both of them, but I'm more ahead on one than I am on the other (I've already begun putting one incarnation in chapter form, while the other is still in the excerpting stage). And one of the incarnations (the one which is still in the excerpting stage) is an extension of my boyfriend's fan fiction (no, he hasn't posted it yet; I'm pretty sure he doesn't even have an FFN account as of yet), so until it's complete, I can't begin uploading it. It's also going to take time because I'm now going to begin following a rule where I don't begin uploading a story **_**until most or all of the story has been written in chapter form**_**. I know that probably makes you all cringe a little, considering how long both stories in the ****Phantom's Daughter**** series are, but it will ultimately be to everyone's benefit—you all won't have to wait such a long time for an update, since this method will allow me to upload on a very regular basis (monthly or bi-monthly, most likely) and I won't have to feel guilty for being so lacking in updates.**

**So here are your notification options:**

**If you're interested in knowing about the incarnation which is based solely on my work, just put me on Author Alert (it'll be a lot easier than relying on me to remember to notify you personally) and wait as patiently as you can!**

**If you're interested in knowing about the incarnation which is an extension of my boyfriend's fan fiction (and you want to read his fan fiction before reading my incarnation), let me know via PM and I will notify each of you personally when he's begun uploading the fan fiction.**

**If you're interested in both incarnations (which includes being interested in my boyfriend's fan fiction), put me on Author Alert **_**and**_** let me know via PM so I can notify each of you personally when my boyfriend has begun uploading his fan fiction.**

**If you're interested in both incarnations (which **_**does not**_** include being interested in my boyfriend's fan fiction), just put me on Author Alert.**

**Oh, a word about my boyfriend—as a writer; I won't make you all jealous by telling you how marvelous he is… tee-hee. Fear not, he is a legitimately good writer. And I'm not biased. I was reading his stuff **_**before**_** we were dating and I enjoyed it just as much then as I do now.**

**Anyway, the long note is now over. Thank you all so much for how much patience you've had (if you have any more at this point; ha ha), and I promise you it'll be worth it if you start reading one (or both) of the incarnations once they start getting uploaded! They're going to be so incredible and I'm so excited about them!**

**Your obedient servant, friend, and authoress,  
LovetheScottishAngel**


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